


Kintsukuroi

by Anosrepasi



Series: Kintsukuroi [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anosrepasi/pseuds/Anosrepasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is cold, cold, cold. Just like the vault she crawled her way out of.</p><p>And for all her efforts to just become numb to this new world she's found herself in, she can't help but keep stringing her heart to her sleeve and letting it make the decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently there aren't any Nick/Sole/Hancock fics yet? Well. I have a 15+ chapter story planned out for this trio so... sorry about it being a slow burn. I promise it'll get better and better with each chapter.
> 
> Currently without a beta for this, so all mistakes are my own. Please, point out any you notice.

_“I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,”_

_Walt Whitman, To a Stranger_

—

**2277**

The first time he sees a synth, he’s in the middle of stumbling out of the Dugout.

He doesn’t even really recognize the metal man as a synth at first. His skin is pale and weathered and his clothes fit loosely on his frame. From the back he looks like a ghoul with a cold, if anything. It’s only when the man turns his head to look around that John can see the exposed sections of this throat and the inner mechanical gears clicking away. He’s heard rumors about a synth being let into town recently, taking it up as a handyman in the lower field of Diamond City. And at the moment, John is sober enough to walk straight, but not enough to make the most logical decisions.

So he saunters up to the synth and lets himself crash into the wall section next to the exposed panal where the synth is working. He grins over at the mechanical man and does his best impression of an innocent bystander, “So, whatcha working on?”

The synth, for his part, doesn’t flinch at the sudden crash or at the unexpected interruption. He finishes connecting the circuit he was fixing and then turns to face John, a small frown on his features. And damn, those yellow eyes are something. “Fixing a water purifier. Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all, I was just curious to meet this metal man everyone-”

“John Mcdonough. Are you giving Nick a hard time?” The raspy voice interrupting John’s charade was familiar enough. Dex, one of the city’s resident ghouls who helps maintain the city water system was standing in the limelight, arms crossed and frowning at the young troublemaker. John straightened up and sheepishly ran a hand through his dark hair. Dex was a good guy, and had given John a place to crash some nights when he was too fucked up to return to the Stands. That being said, Dex was one of the few people who John actually respected as a figure of authority. Nothing worse then getting caught red handed.

The synth finished replacing the panal cover and turned to face Dex, “I think he was in the process of introducing himself, to be honest. However poorly the attempt”

The robot has a sense of humor. Damn. John might need a stimpac after that one.

Dex’s frown dropped but he still gave John a questioning look, “Are you drunk?”

John frowned, “I’m tipsy. There’s a difference”

“Then introduce yourself correctly, like a good citizen.” Dex said pointing between John and the synth, who was watching the exchange with a neutral expression.

John nodded but rolled his eyes and turned to face the synth, offering a hand, “John McDonough. Sorry for being an ass.”

The synth took his hand and shook it steadily, “Nick Valentine, apology accepted.”

Dex nodded in approval, “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“Yeah, I’m going to go home now.” John mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and taking off towards the Stand’s lift. Once he was out of earshot Nick tilted his head, “So who was he?”

“Local troublemaker. His family lives up in the Stands, and his brother has got a bit of influence up there. John’s always been a bit rebellious though and tends to come down to our level for some entertainment. He’s not a bad kid, just highly misguided.” Dex said casually, watching John’s retreating form disappear around one of the winding walkway corners.

“I’ll take a friendly misguided face any day over a hostile one.” Nick mentioned optimistically before raising his voice, “So, the wiring should be fixed and your purifier sensors should be able to pick up the sediment you were worried about.”

Dex smiled and handed over a small bag of caps, “Thanks Nick, big mechanical systems are one thing, but I’ve never had much luck with all this fancy wiring stuff.”

“It wasn’t a hassle at all, I seem to have a certain affinity for wires, it seems.” Nick joked, wiping his hands on a small rag he brought with him. Dex laughed and gave the synth’s shoulder a quick pat, before heading off. “And I’m practically a walking Geiger counter, we all have our talents. Take care, Valentine.”

—

The next time John runs into Nick Valentine, it’s in the middle of Goodneighbor.

John is pulling the door to the Rexford Hotel closed and looked up to see the synth awkwardly standing in the middle of the street, looking around the shabby city like a person from the Lower Field looks at the Stands. And god save him, some of Vic’s boys had noticed.

Neither Vic’s thugs or Valentine had seen John yet, so he could just slip down the alleyway and keep this his little secret. He had been trying to keep his trips to Goodneighbor on the down low. The synth might not make it back to Diamond City though, seeing as Vic’s crew wasn’t the most open-minded. But that wasn’t John’s problem.

Except, the self-destructive voice in his head apparently thought that this was his problem. Nick wouldn’t stand a chance bluffing or fighting his way out of this. But John could.

John cursed and made a beeline for the metal man and placed an arm over the synth’s shoulder (which was incredibly uncomfortable, seeing as the synth was taller than he was) and pulled the man close enough to speak without being overheard. Nick for his part merely flinched at the initial contact and gave John a once-over, eyebrows scrunched in confusion at the sudden appearance of another Diamond City dweller. “McDonough?”

“Shh, I’ll lecture you about proper greeting etiquette later.” John said shortly, “Listen, a couple of Vic’s thugs are coming this way. They have a shoot-on-sight policy for synths. So don’t say anything and follow my lead.”

John pulled up the collar on Nick’s shirt so that it obstructed the synth’s exposed neck as much as possible. If Nick keeps his hands in his pockets then his left hand wouldn’t be an issue… but the exposed wiring along his jawline and temple are still a problem unless. Duh. John removed his battered fedora from his own head and replaced it firmly on Valentine’s head, covering up most of this exposed skin. He didn’t have enough time to make any other changes before a voice called out, “Hey, you two. Heel.”

Nick and John turned to find two of Vic’s crew advancing on them. There submachine guns were already out but pointed low, so they weren’t already looking for a fight. John could work with that. The shorter of the two enforcers had been the one to speak, his oily voice matching up with his low-level triggerman appearance almost perfectly. He used the barrel of his gun to motion towards Valentine, “Who’s the new face?”

Nick frowned and made a sound like he was clearing his throat, giving John the perfect opportunity to jump in. “Nicky? Not much of a new face, gentlemen, he’s just come down with something nasty.”

John ruffled through his pockets, trying not to flinch as the submachine gun was now pointed at his chest, and retrieved one of the packets of Med-X he had just gotten from Fred earlier that day, “See, ghouls look like hell in general. But a sick ghoul? Fucking ghastly, huh?” He motioned at Nick casually but waved the packet of Med-X back towards himself in order to keep the thug’s attention. “Probably why you didn’t recognize him as a regular.”

Nick faked a rough cough and John patted him on the back sympathetically, “Being the good friend I am, I was just stopping by to get him some meds. We were on our way out, actually.”

The two enforcers seemed skeptical but had taken a considerable step back at the mention of ‘sick ghoul.’ The short one grunted and momentarily held his submachine leveled at John’s chest before pointing the barrel in the direction of the city gates. “Best be on your way then. We don’t need any kind of ghoul infection going around here.”

John nodded enthusiastically and began leading Nick towards the gates, acting as if he was helping support the metal man’s weight. Once they rounded a corner, the duo ducked down the nearest alleyway. Nick straightened up and chuckled as he fixed his shirt collar, “That was some top notch improv.”

“What can I say, being this charming takes a certain level of practice,” John replied absentmindedly, scanning the nearby street for any remaining indication of Vic’s crew. When he turned to face the synth again, Nick was leaning against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, a lit cigarette in between his fingers and a small trail of smoke escaping his mouth. This was a definitely something new. “Synths can smoke?”

Nick brought the cigarette back up to his lips, “Old habits die hard.”

“To each their own.” John replied amicably, taking a spot next to Nick on the wall, “Got one to spare?”

“You did just get me out of a tight spot so I think I can manage that.” Nick said, handing a stick to John and offering his lighter. John took both with a small nod of thanks and lit up his own cigarette without further ado. They smoked in silence for a moment before Nick’s voice cut through the pleasant atmosphere. “So why is a kid from the Stands in Goodneighbor?”

Ah. Time for that etiquette lesson. John took one last puff of his cigarette and snubbed the cigarette out against the brick. “First rule of Goodneighbor, Sparks, is that you don’t ask people why they’re here. And if you see them outside of Goodneighbor, you don’t mention where you saw them.”

“The first rule of Goodneighbor is don’t talk about Goodneighbor.” Nick rephrased quietly, a small smirk forming on his lips temporarily as if there was something amusing about his words. Whatever it was, John didn’t get the joke. He crossed his arms and watched Nick take another drag of his cigarette from the corner of his eye. “Yeah. Basically. That being said, why the fuck are you here?”

Nick tilted his head and met John’s eyes, his own eyebrows raised slightly as if to silently imply his own amusement that John was now the one breaking the code. John frowned but didn’t break eye contact, waiting for the synth’s reply. Nick exhaled and spoke without hesitation, “I’m looking for someone. Dex mentioned that one of boys who works for him has been missing for a couple of days. Based on the word around town, the last anyone had heard he had been planning on stopping by here.”

One of Dex’s boys? Oh. Marty. Who was currently passed out on Fred’s couch in the Rexford Hotel’s basement. He was sleeping off a three day binge that had occurred at the Third Rail based on what Fred had said when John had stopped by. Marty usually only stayed for a day or so, even if he disappeared without a word he normally got back before someone would get worried. Dex probably was past the point of ‘worried.’

“So Dex is having you track down Marty?” For a ghoul, Dex had the heart of a teddy bear, apparently.

“I volunteered.” Nick supplied casually, “And it looks like you know where he is.”

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” John responded sarcastically. Nick merely gave him this _look_ and snuffed out his own cigarette, “I didn’t say who I was looking for, you put two and two together and figured it out yourself. You don’t seem super concerned so I’m assuming Marty is alive and well.”

“He’s at the Rexford Hotel, sleeping off one hell of hangover.” John said, pushing himself away from the wall with his foot. “Now, I’m going to leave. Think you can handle yourself, Mr. Contagious?”

Valentine smiled briefly and motioned at the Fedora he was still wearing, “I should return this to you first.”

“Nah,” John waved off the comment, “You need it more than I do.”

And with that he was off, once again ruffling through his pockets for a packet of mentats. Nick called after him, “You know you’ve got some potential when you lay off the drugs and alcohol.”

John rolled his eyes and made a show of popping a berry mentat into his mouth.

Fucking synth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I will undoubtedly edit this message later with an actual important message. In the meantime: Hi. Thank you for reading. This is going to a very long, slow burn type of work. I'm going to get started on the next chapter right away and my goal is to be posting on a biweekly schedule or less if I can write that much.
> 
> And seriously, thank you so much for reading. I know there's not a for Nick/SS/Hancock yet and hopefully this is a quality fic for the pairing. I'll be introducing my SS, Shep in the next chapter, so stay tuned. :)


	2. The Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2287: Nora Shepard wakes up in Vault 111

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So here's the schedule. I'm going to plan on updating this fic every Monday. That way we both have something to look forward to at the start of each week. Unless I say otherwise, I should be able to post a new chapter on a weekly basis. If I can't make that deadline I'll either let you all know the week before in my author notes, on my profile page here on AO3 or here on my [Tumblr](http://anosrepasi.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy this new chapter. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own, please point them out!
> 
> Also: This chapter does contain minor character death/dealing with minor character death.

_“This shaking keeps me steady. I should know._

_What falls away is always. And is near._

_I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow._

_I learn by going where I have to go.”_

_\- Theodore Roethke, The Waking_

 

—

**2287**

 

She is so _so_ cold.

That’s the first thought to pass through her mind as her lungs expand, pulling in stale air. Her eyes flutter open as her breathe catches and a quick succession of coughs rack her chest. Her vision is swimming and for a moment all she can understand is that she is in some type of box and that there is a reoccurring sound of a siren going off nearby.

And suddenly. She knows where she is, and she’s screaming.

 

—

If anyone else had by chance discovered this vault and ventured inside at this exact moment, they would made several discoveries in a very short amount of time.

The first would be that the sound of a human scream can only travel so far in a small metallic space. Especially when the sound is blocked by doors at almost every divisible section of the vault. Furthermore, the constant sound of the vault’s pre-recorded emergency broadcast was designed to be heard over a reasonable level of noise created by any chaotic situation. This was to ensure the prevention of any further chaos created by vault-tec personnel who could misunderstand the audible instructions if they were misheard. So the first thing someone would notice would be the emergency siren, telling them to leave. If they ignored that warning and traveled further inside they would become aware of the sound of a high-pitched wailing, at first barely audible. As they opened the sliding doors leading to the main vault hallway, the wailing would increase drastically. At this point, any human visitor would begin to experience that along their arms and back of their neck, their hair was standing on end. If they continued forward, against all odds, and opened the door they would realize that the wailing was actually an incoherent jumble of words being screamed. They would also find the source of the screaming.

The second thing they would discover is that the vault was no longer a refuge, but a tomb. The skeleton at the front entrance should have been proof of that enough. Inside the vault were just more skeletons. And radroaches. The shelves were empty and beside the working drinking fountains, there was nothing inside to support life. Whoever had originally occupied the vault was long gone or long dead at this point, no more than bones and the last remains of decayed flesh. But these bodies were merely afterthoughts in comparison to the main chamber of the vault. The true tombs were the cryo chambers. Lined up neatly from end to end on each wall, they stood there like two rows of standing sarcophagi. Each a frozen coffin for the men and women inside. Except for one.

The third, and final, discovery a trespasser would make would have been the woman. She is slumped over, as if in prayer, head bowed and clutching at the knees of one of the corpses in the main chamber. She has two trails of tears flowing down her cheeks, smearing her make up in direct contrast with her perfectly styled black hair. She looks to be around her early 30’s, short and slight in build. She would push her bangs away from her reddened eyes, finally mussing her perfect pixie cut, and seemed to crumple further into herself. A traveler into the vault would see a woman; lost, and mourning, and in need of assistance from someone, anyone, at that moment.

Alas, there was no weary trespasser to act as witness for this awakening.

It was just the woman and the corpses, alone.

 

—

She is so cold, she thinks numbly, curled up at the foot of Nate’s cryopod.

Her sobs have subsided into painful shudders. Each one leaves her shivering as her breathing slowly evened out to a steady pace.She can’t stay here. But she can’t move either, not yet. The emergency siren is continuously blaring, making everything seem too loud and too bright and too real. Part of her just wants to crawl into Nate’s pod with him, close the door, mute that awful siren, fall asleep and not worry about waking up again. Maybe this is just a nightmare, and if she goes back to sleep she’ll wake up and none of this will be real.

This can’t be real.

She can feel herself slipping further away from this moment, can almost see herself curled up on the cold metal floor. Almost like this isn’t happening to her, just someone she’s watching with apathetic eyes. She’s disassociating, she realizes indifferently.

She remembers when Nate first returned home from deployment and he would experience dissociative episodes. He’d be mid-sentence and just zone out, as if paralyzed. She’d stand or sit by him, not quite touching and she’d ask him to just answer questions. Just some simple questions.

_“What is your name?”_

“Nora Casey Shepard”

Her voice is like sandpaper after screaming, breaking and halting as she whispers to herself.

_“How old are you”_

“32 years old. I was born in August.”

She’s still speaking in a whisper, but the words are smoothing out, one by one.

_“Where are you?”_

Hell.

“Vault 111. Outside Sanctuary hills.”

She flexes her fingers, her hands and arms painfully aching from not moving for some time and staying tensed. She sits up slightly and her back protests against the change. She hurts, but she doesn’t feel numb anymore. If she could feel things, that meant this was real.

_“What have you done today?”_

Her breathe hitches and she has to fight back another sob from escaping past her lips.

“I watched someone kill my husband, and take my son.”

She pushes up from the floor and takes a moment to steady herself against the edge of Nate’s cryopod, her legs screaming from having been left unused for so long. At this point, everything is just pins and needles. At first, she keeps her gaze firmly planted on the ground. Another shiver passes through her and she shuts her eyes tight. This is it. This is goodbye.

She exhales and opens her eyes, slowly moving them up from the floor. He’s still wearing the nice dress shoes he had put on earlier that morning in preparation for the speech. They bought them together on a shopping trip a couple of weeks after Nate was back home. Her eyes travel further up. They land on the dark stain that had bloomed across his chest and suddenly she can’t breathe again. He eyes jump back down towards the floor, anywhere, as long as it’s not looking at that. They land on Nate’s wedding ring, still gleaming on his left hand. She takes a few shaky breathes and looks up again, bypassing his chest and focusing on his face.

Nate’s got a small frown on his face, eyebrows slightly scrunched in effort. He would look like he was sleeping if it weren’t for the fact his eyes were open. He has beautiful eyes, but they look so wrong unfocused and glassed over like this. Nora’s hand comes up mechanically and gently cups his cheek. Her hand trembles slightly as she moves it over his face and closes his eyes. His skin is icy, and she momentarily hates herself for expecting any kind of warmth here. A few unspent tears trickle from her eyes and she wipes them away angrily with her unoccupied hand. Taking a deep breathe, she leans in and presses a kiss to Nate’s cold, unyielding lips. He smells like his sandalwood cologne. Her tears feel hot as the trail down her face, she doesn’t bother to wipe them away.

“I’ll find out who did this,” she promises, her voice full of quiet wrath, “And I’ll find our baby.”

And maybe she’s just imagining it, but it seems like in that moment, when the siren momentarily is silent before replaying on loop, the room quietly exhales with her. She gently pulls the wedding ring off Nate’s finger, as well as the dogtags from around his neck. She carefully loops the chain around the ring so that it’s hanging next to the tags and replaces the chain around her own neck.

The siren is blaring again. It’s time to leave.

_“What will you do today?”_

“I’m going to get out of this fucking vault.”

 

—

Nora has never taken so much satisfaction in punching an elevator button.

The machinery around her groans and she can feel the platform below her tremble slightly as the mechanism begins to lift. The groaning intensifies as the metal doors above her screech to life and pull apart from one another. At first theres just a small slant of light, filtering into the shaft. Then she can see a hairline crack of blue. Suddenly, there’s a whole sky above her and she’s getting closer to it with every passing second.

She closes her eyes as her head passes above the threshold of the vault, opening them only when the elevator comes to a halt beneath her. The world is a jarring reminder why she was in the vault in the first place. The scenery isn’t green anymore, just various shades of brown and yellow. The trees are mostly dead and the foliage is all dry. She takes in a startled breathe and the air is dry and crackling, almost like she can taste little tiny sparks along her tongue. This isn’t the world she left, but she knew that.

She takes a few hesitant steps off the platform until she’s standing in the dirt and sinks to her knees. She sits there in the dust, trailing her hands though the dirt. It’s warm, it’s warm, _it’s warm._

She leans back and lets the sun shine down on her face, warm and soft like a lover’s kiss upon her cheeks.

She’s alive. She made it out. She can survive this.

She’s not cold anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've gotten business taken care of.
> 
> YOU GUYS ARE SO WONDERFUL AND LOVELY. THANK YOU. 
> 
> I seriously cannot thank each and everyone of you enough for being so enthusiastic about this piece and for leaving me such wonderful comments and kudos. Please, keep them coming. I run off positive reinforcement and you all are kicking my writing muse into high gear.


	3. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2287: Nick makes a breakthrough on the Eddie Winter case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to work today so I'm posting this now. Yay!
> 
> Two things about this chapter:  
> First, it's the first chapter that isn't named off the respective poem at the start. But 'Bad Blood" was much more relevant a title.  
> Second, hopefully you guys don't mind but this fic is going to skip around a bit chronologically. I'll work on including dates in every chapter, but I'm definitely going to skip back and forth between the 'present' and any relevant backstory for a bit. That being said, that means there will probably be a little bit of emotional whiplash and unresolved conflict between characters that will get addressed later. This is one of those chapters.

_“I loved my friend_  
_He went away from me_  
_There's nothing more to say_  
_The poem ends,_  
_Soft as it began-_  
_I loved my friend.”_

_Poem - Langston Hughes_

 

—

He’s been listening to this tape for what feels like hours. At his point, hitting repeat isn’t doing anything for him but giving him chills. _You should tell this funny story to your little girl, when you tuck her in at night. In that corner bedroom, upstairs, pink wallpaper, little house on Prince Street. Ha ha._ If Nick knew anything, it was that if he looks up the name Johnny Montrono, he’ll see a side note about a daughter. Deceased. He had taken down some scum before, but Winter was in a league of his own. Which made these tapes all the more horrifying. What kind of game was Winter playing? There was enough on this tape to act as evidence for Winter to be investigated for gang ties, as well a direct connection between him and the murder of Montrono’s little girl. And supposedly, there were ten of these holotapes floating around.

What could Winter gain by implicating himself?

Nick double checked his notes, taking a drink from the small glass of scotch on his desk. It looked like the nearest tape was located at the Cambridge police station. In the meantime, Nick removed the tape from his monitor and locked it securely away in his desk drawer. He was going to have to listen to the rest of the tapes if he wanted a clear picture about Winter’s activities and goals at this point.

At any rate, Eddie Winter’s ego was finally going to be his downfall.

“Whatcha working on, big guy?”

Two freckled arms wrapped around Nick’s shoulders, pale hands splayed out down his chest, pressing the fabric flat against his own dark skin. He could see a curtain of brilliant red hair from the corner of his eye while Jen rested her chin upon the crown of his head. He had been so absorbed in looking through his notes he hadn’t heard her come in. Nick smiled and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back until Jen pressed a short kiss to his lips. His mood was already improving, “Working on work, unfortunately.”

Jen frowned momentarily but her smile was back almost before he noticed, almost. She leaned down and pressed another kiss to his forehead. “How about taking a break? I don’t want you to forget to eat dinner.”

Nick’s stomach rumbled and Jen grinned, taking that as an answer enough. Nick tried to look innocent but failed miserably, “Ok, a break might-”

“Nick?”

That wasn’t Jen’s voice.

“Nick, can you hear me?”

Nick opened his eyes and inhaled sharply _(C:\functions\automated\non-essential\stimuli responses\scanned\inhale.exe)_ and was thrust back into the present. His vision swam for a moment as he regained his bearings.

 _Diagnostic initialized…_  
_System check: 100% complete_  
_All systems running normally_  
_[Logged 18 Oct. 2287]_

Nick’s vision cleared and he found himself sitting in Dr. Amari’s office, reclining in one of her personal memory pods that had been customized to connect with his interface. The doctor in question was standing to his side, waving a hand in front of his face, “Nick, if you don’t respond I’m going to go get K-L-EO.”

Ah, right. He’s Nick, but also not-Nick. Nothing like being pulled from the real Nick’s memories to emphasis the difference between the two. He finds his voice and is momentarily surprised by the mechanical tone that is layered over his- not his- Nick’s voice. Typical. “I’m fine, Doc.”

Amari doesn’t seem convinced. “I should have pulled you out sooner.”

Nick sat up in his chair, pulling away the small wire at the base of his skull that connected him to the chair. He reached over to the small table next to the pod and retrieved his fedora from where it lay. He replaced the fedora on his head and gave Dr. Amari a smile. “I know you’re just worried about me, but I’m fine. I do come with the ability to check my own system for issues.”

Amari just frowned. “Nick, you might be a synth, but your memories and a homo sapien’s memories are encoded the same way. Theoretically, you could experience any side effects I would experience if you spend too much time doing a memory relapse.”

“Theoretically.” Nick’s reply is casual, his tone just bordering on brash.

“Don’t play that card, Valentine. We both know you don’t know anything about the biorobotic field.” Amari retorted calmly, like a knowing school teacher. Nick raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He stood up from the pod and retrieved his trench coat from the hook on the wall. The momentary silence gave him time to collect his thoughts before Dr. Amari took a few steps forward until she was standing next to him, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes and No. It was the right memory, but it didn’t have the information I was looking for.” Nick’s voice is sincere, and he can’t help but hear the note of disappointment at the end of his sentence. “I’ll just have to give it a break for a bit and try again later.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you were looking for, you’ve been working on those tape memories for a while now.” Amari placed a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder. Nick gave her a small smile, “Thanks Doc. Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Nick chuckled and took his leave, taking the staircase to the Memory Den’s main level. Irma was lounged out on her loveseat, her eyes lighting up when Nick appeared at the doorway to the basement. “My favorite customer. I was wondering how long Amari was going to keep you to herself.”

Nick grinned, “You know I could never leave you to yourself too long, Irma.”

“I’ve trained you well,” Irma replied with a wink. “When can I expect you to stop by for tea again, darling? I absolutely adored those holotapes you brought with you last time. Your memories of pre-war dancing and music are sooo interesting but I quite enjoyed listening to those tapes in person.”

_…listening to those tapes in person…_

Oh. OH. Of course!

Nick froze for a moment before an entirely new grin appeared on his features. “Irma, I’ll have to give you a rain check on that. You just gave me a wonderful idea.”

Nick made a beeline for the door, the sound of Irma’s surprised laughter following him out.

 

—

He had been going about this the wrong way. He didn’t need to comb through Nick’s memories for the messages, he just needed to find the physical holotapes. Irma had been asking him to bring her pre-war tapes for years, being the history lover she was, and Nick had yet to find a single tape in bad condition. He had never stopped to think that Winter’s tapes were probably the same way. God, he was foolish. He could stop by the remains of old-Nick’s apartment on his way back to Diamond City. Ellie had mentioned a new potential case about a kidnapped girl before he left, with any luck it might lead him near the Cambridge police department and he could grab that tape as well. He really owed Irma this time.

_[New Note] Note to self: Get Irma something fantastic, maybe raid an old wine cellar or an old radio station._

He was so focused on his plan for finding Winter’s tapes that he didn’t notice Hancock until he was walking past the ghoul.

“Someone set Diamond City on fire, Valentine?”

Nick came to an abrupt stop, turning sharply to face Hancock. The ghoul was leaning up against the rough brick of the old statehouse, a cigarette lit and smoke drifting from his smug smile. Nick kept his expression neutral but politely tipped his fedora, though he kept his eyes averted. “Mayor.”

“Aw, come on Nick. Don’t be like that.” Hancock said affronted, his smile dropping, “I thought we were past this shit. You’re always welcome here, and you don’t need to sneak around. You could actually come and say ‘Hi’ once in a while, you know.”

“I wasn’t planning on being here very long, I was actually heading out now.” He can’t help but wonder if his excuse sounded as hollow to Hancock a it did to himself.

“Well, for such short trips, you make up with frequency. You must be Irma’s most common client this month.” Hancock replies nonchalantly and Nick can feel the momentary skip in his processors, he expression shifting into a frown. Hancock raises his eyes knowingly, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Nick lets his face fall back into a neutral expression but his voice gains an icy edge, “Keeping tabs on the people of Goodneighbor now, Hancock? I never pegged you as the ‘overseer’ type.”

“I keep tabs on the businesses. They do pay taxes.” This time it’s Hancock who sounds hollow.

“Sure. Have a nice day, Mayor.” Nick turns to leave but only makes it a few steps before Hancock’s voice cuts through his thoughts again.

“We’ve all got our vices, Nick. I just don’t want to see yours get the better of you.”

And Nick is once again turning around to face Hancock, a scathing _That’s rich, coming from you_ remark waiting on his lips. That remark dries up the moment he catches sight of the man. Because, for once, Hancock is right. Nick knows that logically he’s looking at Hancock, the ghoul mayor of Goodneighbor. But what his visual processors are actually seeing is John. Pre-ghoul John. He’s standing in the middle of the street, a lit cigarette still in his hand. His hazel eyes are piercing and focused on Nick, bright in comparison to his dark wavy hair and tan skin. He’s not wearing his flamboyant costume but instead is dressed in the drifter outfit he used to wear regularly. _Hallucinations are a common side effect of memory relapses_ , his mainframe supplies unhelpfully as he runs a quick visual diagnostic. Amari was right, he spent a little too much time hooked up at the Memory Den. Nick must look like he’s seeing a ghost (technically, that wouldn’t be far off) because John frowns and takes a couple steps forward until he’s standing right in front of Nick, cautiously tapping Nick’s shoulder. “Nick?”

And like that, the illusion is broken. Hazel eyes are replaced with black sclera, and it’s no longer John standing in front of Nick with a worried look on his face, but Hancock. Nick inhales sharply _(C:\functions\automated\non-essential\stimuli responses\scanned\inhale.exe)_.

“John. Just let me walk away from this. Please.” Nick manages, looking away from the shorter man. Hancock’s hand falls away from his shoulder as if burned and Nick takes the opportunity to leave quickly. The only thing following him out this time is a shocked silence.

He’s not sure who he surprised more, Hancock or himself.

After all, he hasn’t been on a first name basis with Hancock in quite a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, hits and kudos. You make me smile everytime I check my email.
> 
> Want to talk headcannons or fallout 4 in general though between chapters? hit me up on [tumblr](http://anosrepasi.tumblr.com/)
> 
> you guys are awesome. I'd love to talk with you.


	4. These Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2282: You don't know what you've got until you lose it. John finds that out the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. Done.
> 
> Thanks for all your patience waiting for this chapter. It ended up being a little over 5,000, which is a little less than the previous three chapters combined? There are still a few places I'm not happy with, but overall I'm satisfied with the result. I hope you guys enjoy reading it!
> 
> Warning: Contains a lot of language. And like usual, all mistakes are my own.

  
_“But even if we won't admit it to ourselves_  
_We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else_  
_So I won't show my face here anymore_  
_I won't show my face here anymore”_

_“These Streets” - Bastille_

—

**2282**

_Who would have thought my favorite person in Diamond City would be Nick Valentine._

The thought flutters through his mind, lazy and spiraling, drifting away like most important things do. He’s sprawled out on the couch in Nick’s detective agency, coming down from a high. There’s always a specific moment after a jet high that is John’s favorite, maybe even more so than the high itself. The world is still sharp and crisp, but his own body and thoughts are muffled and warm. He can feel the rough texture of the couch fabric, hear the slight whirring sound of Nick’s processors, see the play of light on Nick’s desk as it reflects off his metallic body. But his own body feels like lead, and his mind is muffled and clouded, barely holding onto a thought as soon as it passes through his mind.

It feels like his whole life was leading up to being on this couch, perfectly content and borderline sleepy. For the moment at least.

His eyes are hooded, not quite closed but barely staying open, locked firmly on the figure of Nick Valentine sitting at his desk. The man is working another case, brow slightly scrunched in concentration. His trench coat is hanging on the back of his chair, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the gaps along his right forearm where his skin has started to fall off. John can hear the scratching sound of Nick’s pen against paper as the detective makes notes on the case file he’s reading. The  _scritch-scratch_  of each stroke playing out in a melody that John will only piece together in this instance, losing it forever once he gets his senses back.

He wishes he wouldn’t. He might not be lucid now, but he knows it’s coming. And if he had his way the universe would freeze right now. He would spend the rest of his days laying dazed on Nick’s couch, watching the detective work away. Personally, that sounded like a better endgame then any of the options Paster Clements offered.

Nick paused for a moment and glanced over at John, his captivating eyes sweeping over John’s relaxed form, “Doing ok?”

“Absolutely peachy.” John replied, drawling out his words. His eyes make a quick sweep around the room, taking in all of the haphazardly stacked files and boxes scattered along the floor, “You know this place is a mess, right? I’m pretty sure Ellie’s offer to lend a hand here is still open.”

“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” Nick shoots back, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. The corner of his mouth tips up slightly though, betraying his amusement. It’s always the subtle expressions that give him away.

John’s noticed that about Nick. He’s got several expressions that run like clockwork. Ha. Clockwork. When he smiles, it’s exaggerated. His frowns are the same way. When he talks about a subject at length, his eyes tend to wander, making it seem like his attention is focused on something else. When he gets surprised, he makes a noticeable inhale sound, despite not having lungs. He’s got all these human mannerisms, superimposed onto a body of a synth. But they are all obvious enough to make it certain what he’s thinking. John’s always wondered if those expression actually belong to Nick or were just programmed into him, wholesale.

It’s the subtle expressions that really catch John’s attention. The small corner smile that indicates Nick’s amusement. The one particular scrunch of his eyebrows when he’s concentrating. The shifted, more narrow, scrunch of his brow and nose when he’s worried. The way he tilts his head just-so-slightly when he’s asking a personal question, or something he doesn’t expect an answer for. The way he keeps his attention so centered on a cigarette when he lights it, every single moment in perfect harmony. It’s the subtle expressions that tell John what makes Nick the person he is.

It’s like one of Nick’s case files that John’s been maintaining in his head. See a new expression, add it to his memory. He can’t say when he started, he only noticed that he’d been doing it recently.

“Anyone home?” Nick says impatiently. Apparently he’s been talking still. Whoops. “I can’t tell if your expression means yes or no, John.”

“Do me a favor and repeat the question?”

“Do you want to go grab some food? I could use a break and you should probably eat something.” Nick’s got his head tilted just barely to the side. He must seem really out of it if Nick’s giving him the questioning look. It’s true, he hasn’t eaten anything yet but he’s not really hungry. Though, he can sense an itch starting to form for another hit of something, sobriety is catching up with him. That itch is a more pressing hunger than the need to eat.

He doesn’t have anymore jet stashed away on him, but he does have a foil of mentats in his pocket he could sneak in with meal if they go out to eat. He knows that Nick will just give him a disapproving look if he pops them into his mouth blatantly. And as much as Nick’s disapproval eats at his edges, he really could use a hit.

“Sure, Sparks. Lead the way.”

—

It’s sad, in all honesty, how easy it is to hide the chems from Nick. John knows that Nick is completely aware that he takes them, but he never says a word about it unless John shoots up right in front of him. So, John’s mastered the art of being subtle.

Take a bite of the roasted squirrel he bought, maneuver a couple of mentats into the palm of his hand in his coat pocket. Take another bite and remove his hand from his coat pocket. Use the hand with the mentats to wipe the grease away from his mouth with the base of his thumb, pop the mentats into his mouth and smile. Swallow the mentats along with the next bite of squirrel. The motions are automatic and clean, like an experienced raider loading his favorite gun.

By the time he’s finished his food, the mentats have kicked in and the world is sharper and clearer. The background noise of the marketplace is no longer an angry pounding against John’s skull but a wave of sound, ebbing and flowing past him. The aching in his bones is still present, the aftereffects of Jet, but with the mentats he can almost block out the feeling. The world has shifted and suddenly it is like John has walked into a passage from one of Nick’s old books. The city streets have become painted alleyways, the shadows and lights contrasting like the shoreline of a beach at midnight, dark water lapping up against pale sand. It was a typical evening in Diamond City, but somehow the space had become much more breathtaking.

“You are awfully happy today.” Nick comments neutrally, standing next to him. The main protagonist of the detective noir novel himself.

“Today’s been a good day,” John deflected the comment easily, “Ready to head back?”

“Sure.” Nick lets the matter drop and they’re on their way. Its only once they make it away from the main marketplace, the light and noise dying out in equal measure, that John can feel the mood shift. It’s quiet between the two of them. He has no real desire to fill up the space with chatter right now, and Nick is just silent. John’s not surprised when Nick slows to a stop right before the corner leading to his agency. The man has something on his mind, and John is more than willing to listen, “John..”

“Hey, get back here! You won’t get away with this, punk!” Whatever Nick had to say is cut off by a shout. The two lock eyes before quickly rounding the corner towards the sound. Running down the alleyway is a scrawny kid, probably no older than 12. His arms are full of mechanical components and he’s moving like he’s got the devil after him. Rounding the corner a second later was Dex.

The alleyway didn’t have any other turn off points except where Nick and John were waiting. That didn’t stop the kid from barreling into Nick at full speed, nearly pushing past if Nick hadn’t hadn’t been expecting it. John grabbed hold of the kid before he could struggle past Nick, and dug in his feet into the ground to avoid being knocked over. A few parts and pieces fell from the kid’s arms and John narrowly avoided having a particularly clunky motor fan drop on his foot. “Woah there, not so fast, kid.”

Dex cleared the alleyway and caught up with the duo, taking a second to regain his breathe. “You two,” he said between breathes, “Have a wonderful sense of timing.”

Nick tipped his fedora while John rolled his eyes, making sure not to let the kid take him by surprise and twist out of his grip. Nick motioned to the kid, who was now struggling less and glaring at the ground with an angry expression. “So what’s going on here, Dex.”

“This punk broke into my workshop and started stripping the turret I’m fixing up for security.” Dex explained angrily, “I caught him in the act and he decided to book it.”

“Kid, you know stealing from people is wrong, and can get you into a lot of trouble.” Nick said gently, bending down so that he was at eye level with the kid.

The boy briefly met Valentine’s eyes before glancing back towards the ground, his voice still carrying a bit of rebellion, “My sis says ghouls aren’t real people, anyway.”

“What did you just say?” John snarled quietly, feeling his own anger rising. Dex just let out a tired sign and Nick frowned but stayed at eye-level with the kid. His voice was patient, but John could hear the slight edge to his words. “Ghouls are people just like you. Dex, the man you stole from, is the man who makes it so you and your sister can have clean water and don’t get sick. You should be a bit more thankful for people like him.”

The boy stayed silent for a moment before raising his eyes to look at Dex, turning them away just as quickly. His voice was quiet and monotone as he spoke, “I’m sorry I stole your things.”

He offered the remaining components in his arms to Dex, and Dex took them back without comment. Nick rose to his feet again and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home, kid.”

He steered the boy away from John’s grip and started walking the boy away from the alley, glancing over his shoulder as he went, “I’ll be right back.”

In the new found silence, John helped Dex pick up the dropped mechanical components, “Dex. How long has that being going on?”

Dex is quiet for a moment before responding, “The anti-ghoul rhetoric? It’s always been a thing up in the stands, but it’s been growing down here in the field since Mayor Perkins passed away a few years ago. To be honest, John, I’ve lived here a long time and this is the worst I’ve seen it.”

“Why hasn’t anyone said anything about it?” John asked quietly. He hadn’t noticed anything out of the usual. But that being said, why would he? He’s from the stands. He knew that every single one of the high strung socialites used hate speech against any riff-raff as small talk. Hell, his brother had said some stuff before that made John feel a little green.

But the field was supposed to be different. There had always been a sense of unity in the field. Something breaks? Dex could probably fix it for you. Someone goes missing? Nick would take the case every time security just rattled off an excuse. Need a place to go and just sit for a while? Clements kept his little chapel open at all hours. There was something good about the field. Probably the reason John always ended up here. Nick’s couch had always felt a little more like home than the stands did.

Dex didn’t offer a response and the two stayed quiet until Nick’s return. It was only when Dex made his leave that John spoke up again, “Take care of yourself, Dex.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Dex gave a short wave. “This is nothing I can’t handle.”

—

And for a while, everything was ok.

Until, suddenly, it was the opposite of ok.

One moment, his brother was up at the podium, giving his acceptance speech and thanking the citizens of Diamond City. The next he was calling for the removal of all ghouls from the city, by force if necessary. John watched in shocked silence as his brother left the podium, walked calmly over to the elevator to the Stands and rose above the crowd, passively watching the chaos begin below.

This is a jet dream, right?

His brother wouldn’t do this. Diamond City wouldn’t do this. This is just a bad trip. In a couple of seconds he’ll be shaken out of it and he’ll be on Nick’s couch and-

“John!”

See, this is just a bad trip.

Except he didn’t take Jet that morning. He is living off mentats until his next run to Goodneighbor. This isn’t just some hallucination he can laugh off and blame on the drugs. Nick’s hand on his shoulder is proof enough. The skin on Nick's right hand has faded and torn away over the years in multiple places, leaving the metal skeleton exposed. John can feel some of the bare metal fingers digging into his clothes and pressed against his skin.

Nick’s eyes are staring into his own. His eyebrows are pinched together. Worried. There are those little expressions again.

“Now’s not the time to be daydreaming,” Nick says quickly, but the concern is evident in his voice. John blinks and grimaces, taking in a slow breathe, “I know. Just give me a sec, Nick.”

He feels like his head is made of cotton while his stomach is made of lead. He didn’t eat today, he realizes numbly, taking another steadying breathe. Guess he’ll have to worry about that later. The mentats won’t last him long, but they’re strong enough at the moment to keep him focused and to ignore the rest of his body’s complaints. He takes on last steadying breathe and meets Nick’s worried gaze. “What’s the plan?”

“Find Dex, and any of the other ghouls we see, and help them get out of the city safely.” Nick’s voice is calm and collected, but the resignation of the situation clipped his tone.

John opened his mouth to respond but a gunshot rang out, effectively catching the duo’s attention. Whatever ‘purge’ Diamond City had planned was starting. “Fuck.” John cursed, startled by the sound, “There’s got to be a way to get this whole thing off course before it gets going. This entire situation is fucked up.”

“I agree with you, but we’re only two people. A mob isn’t going to listen to us.”

John ran a hand through his hair, aggressively pulling through the roots and paused. A mob wouldn’t listen to them, but it would listen to the voice of authority. Thank you mentats. “They’ll listen to their mayor.”

Nick opened his mouth to respond but John was already sprinting towards the lift to the Stands, calling over his shoulder. “Go find Dex! I’ll meet up with you.”

—

The lift took exactly 73 seconds to reach the stands and the mayor’s office. John counted. He counted because otherwise all he could focus on is the growing itch in his blood that meant his mentats were wearing off. In their place, they left him feeling weak and unsteady, his head beginning to ache with the ghost of an oncoming migraine. He could hear the sound of screaming from the lift, occasionally the crack of a gunshot would pierce the noise. Soon the sounds of breaking glass, shouts, yells and gunshots just mixed into a general buzz in the background that left his skull pulsing. He leaned over and placed his head against the cool metal of handrail on the lift, counting the second as they passed. All he needed to do was convince George to call this off. Everything would stop, and everyone would end up ok and he could deal with his headache.

73 seconds and John stepped into the mayor’s office to a renewed source of shouting. He couldn’t help but cringe as Ellie’s piercing voice filled up the room.

“My father wouldn’t have stood for this! This is unacceptable!” Ellie, all scrawny 5’6” of her is standing toe to toe with the blond secretary and one of the diamond city guardsmen, her body unnaturally still, like a radscorpian about to strike. The secretary is unyielding, her voice equal parts steel and malice, “Your father’s not the one in charge anymore, Ms. Perkins. You best head home. The mayor isn’t seeing anyone.”

“Like hell he isn’t.” John growled out, crossing the room with a quick stride. The Diamond City guard momentarily lifted his gun before the secretary raised a hand. “Mr. McDonough, go right ahead. Your brother is expecting you.”

John pushed past the secretary and the guard, pulling the door to the inner office open and slamming it closed behind him. Headache be damned for the moment, he was angry and he was going to show it. George didn’t jump at the sound of the door being slammed, in fact he didn’t move at all. He was standing in front of the wall length windows, looking down at the city below. John noticed then how quiet the room was, the glass walls insulating it against all the noise of the chaos on the streets. If he focused hard enough, the only sound he could hear would be the sound of his own irregular breathing.

It was George who spoke first.

“I did it, John. It’s finally mine.”

John’s stomach twisted into knots.

George’s voice was absolutely gleeful, brimming with pride and satisfaction. Somewhere near the market a fire had broken out. And the flickering orange light only seemed to accent John’s own reflection in the glass. He still couldn’t see George’s expression. The light shifted and John finally caught George’s reflection in the glass. He’s leering. He’s smiling like he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the Commenwealth while watching Diamond City go up in flames beneath him. The man in the window looks nothing like John’s brother in that moment, but rather like the devil himself, as if sprung from the words of their mother’s old stories when they were children.

“You did what, George? Because all I see is our city on fire and people dying in the streets. What’s there to be proud of here?” John spits out, words thick with disgust. The man won’t bother to face him, but John takes a few steps closer anyway. He tries to ignore the shaking in his hands and the way the world seems to be swaying oh-so-slightly, his headache now making itself known.

George stays silent for a few moments but finally turning to face John. He merely twists his torso, shifting one foot to account for the redistribution in weight. He regards John with as much attention as he would to an assistant, as if talking over his shoulder. “There are ghouls dying in the streets, John. Not people. And with them gone, Diamond City will be better for it.”

His voice is so cold, so assured, as if he’s chiding John for saying something obvious. John knows that he’s lost. Even if he had all the mentats in the world, he can’t change another person’s morals. Apparently, George sold all of his in order to gain a big office.

“You could stop this. This entire thing is on you and you have the power to end it. It’s now or never.” He snarls, angry at George for falling this low and angry at himself for not seeing this coming.

“It’s the people of Diamond City who decided on this, not me. I can’t stop it anymore than you can.” George brushes away the blame like dust. For a second he almost sounds mockingly sincere. _It’s what the people want, nothing to be done._ He turns back to his window, and John can see the scene perfectly. This was always his plan; look out of his luxury windows, enjoy the brand new office and watch the ghouls of the city pay the price of politics.

That was it then. There wasn’t going to be an easy end to this. People were going to get thrown out of their homes or killed in the streets and his brother would do absolutely nothing to stop it. No. Not his brother. Mayor McDonough. Might as well have been killed off on the streets with the ghouls, because he sure as hell ain’t John’s brother any longer.

John could kill him. He could strike him down right now.

It would be easy. The knife sheathed along his forearm was plenty sharp. He just needed to take a few steps closer, take out the knife and slit the bastard’s throat. Watch the new mayor bleed out alongside every other one of his victims on the streets.

That wouldn’t help any of the ghouls though.

John stormed out instead.

He takes a little satisfaction in how the guard and secretary flinch as he slams the door on his way out, the small spike of pain in his head was worth some petty retribution against these assholes. Ellie is still in the waiting room, seething. She jumps up as John leaves the room and he pulls her onto the lift with him. She’s got the same kind of frown Nick wears when he knows there’s bad news, “He won’t stop this, will he?”

John doesn’t reply but grips the rails of the lift harder, “Go to Valentine’s place. Stay away from any big groups and don’t get in the middle of any fights. It’s going to be chaos down there.”

His hands are shaking, he realizes. From anger, exhaustion or withdrawals he doesn’t know. He glances at Ellie and sees that she’s staring at his hands, eyebrows scrunched in worry. Jesus, the kid has been spending way too much time with Valentine if she’s mimicking his expressions so well. Nick needs to just give her the damn job already. Her eyes flicker up to his, “John, are you alright?”

The question catches him unprepared.

He squeezes the handrails and gives Ellie a bitter smile. “No, not really, kid. But thanks for asking.”

—

He finds Nick at Dex’s house.

The synth is standing in front of the shack door, arms crossed and posture solid like a rock. Dex has a metal angel guarding his house and John can’t help but feel broken in comparison. Nick catches sight of him and the synth’s posture relaxes, a small smile breaking his stone cold features. John shakes his head and Nick’s smile drops, but he still remains relaxed. “Dex is grabbing what he can carry.”

“You guys haven’t been harassed?”

“Not while I’m here. Dex has been pretty… accepting of the situation. He was gathering a couple of the locals here when I arrived, all of them had whatever they could grab before being pulled out of their homes. They’re inside, if you want to help.”

Nick kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke. Repressing emotion. He probably would be taking on the mob single handedly if he could. John can’t help but feel a little relieved that Nick’s common sense has overridden his need to be a hero for once. John sighed and looked at the door. “What are they planning on doing?”

“To be honest, I don’t know if Dex has anything planed beyond leaving.” Nick answers, his voice quiet.

John doesn’t respond, he just pushes the door open and walks inside.

—

Once they get everyone squared away, they make it out of the city surprisingly easy.

Nick keeps his gun unholstered. John keeps his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and makes sure his knife is always within reach. They act as escorts, and are quick to discourage anyone who tries to pick a fight with the group. It’s only once they leave the city gates that the real hopelessness of the situation makes itself apparent. They’ve got 15 ghouls following them out, and most of them haven’t been out of the city in years. Dex, John and Nick pull away from the group and give everyone a moment to mentally prepare before heading out.

“Where are you going to go now, Dex?” Nick asks, keeping his voice low as to not have the other ghouls overhear.

“Honestly? No idea.” Dex answers, as John slowed to a stop next to him. “Goodneighbor’s probably the best bet.”

John might still be quaking like a turret, and unable to process much with a pounding headache, but even he knows a crazy idea when he hears one. He focuses on making sure he words don’t tumble over one another as he speaks, “You guys won’t make it to Goodneighbor.”

“John-” Nick said sharply but was interrupted as John tiredly raised a hand to cut off the synth.

“Without a guide. You guys are going to Goodneighbor? I’m coming with. I know the safest way to get there.” John finished, crossing his arms. He’s tired and his stance on the situation is final. He’s not going to leave Dex and company to fend for themselves.

Dex nodded, “Thank you, John.”

“Can we talk for a moment?” Nick interrupted, motioning at John.

Dex looked between the two and backed away slightly, “You guys talk. John, let me know where we’re ready to go.”

The ghoul left the small gathering, leaving Nick and John on their own. Nick didn’t hesitate to get straight to the point, “You’re in no condition to be leading anyone.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Sparks.” John replied indifferently. Sure he felt like hell now, but he had made the trip between Diamond City and Goodneighbor under worse conditions before. “Doesn’t matter what condition I’m in, we both know these guys won’t make it a block without help.”

John almost thinks that he can hear Nick swear underneath his breathe. Almost. The detective frowned and tapped the side of his coat. He probably forgot his lighter and cigarettes at the agency. Typical. The silence was deafening with everything that wasn’t being said but implied. John knew he wasn’t going to be making a return trip. He had the feeling that Nick had figured that out as well.

“Then I’m coming with you.” Nick said after a moment, his eyes once again meeting John’s. He had figured it out then.

John closed his eyes momentarily and focused on inhaling without wanting to keel over. He saw this coming. Nick had always been too noble for his own good. Instead of thinking this through, he was just jumping to the ‘good’ option. With no regard for the fact that one of these days the good option was going to get him killed. “You can’t, Nick.”

“Why not?”

_Because you are the only good think left in this rotten city. Because they’re going to throw Ellie out of the stands for standing up to the new mayor and you need to be there for her. Because Goodneighbor would take one look at you, grind you to dust and spit you out. If it didn’t kill you first. Because I’m not going to be the reason you’re homeless again. Because if you stay here, you’ll be safe and I’ll know where to find you._

“Because you’re a synth.” John said instead, opening his eyes on the last word and locking onto Nick’s gaze.

The expression on Nick’s face is a new one. It’s a mix of anger and worry, and it takes a moment for John to place it. Not many synths usually express despair, but there it is. John might be wrong, but he can see the shadow of hatred on Nick’s features as well. It’s there in the way his mouth turns slightly downward and his eyes narrow. _Hate me all you want, Valentine, just don’t follow me._ John doesn’t break his gaze. Nick’s expression shifts once again, into something unreadable, “Don’t get killed.”

That’s one win for today. John tries to give the detective a smile, but even he knows it looks forced. “Have a little faith in me, Nick.”

Nick doesn’t look reassured.

“Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll get these guys to Goodneighbor, you’re going to go give Ellie that fucking job already. Life goes on, right?” John said after a moment, placing a reassuring hand on Nick’s shoulder and giving the synth a small squeeze before letting go. His smile felt a little less forced this time.

“We know the day has gone to hell when you’re the one giving me advice,” Nick responds brokenly after a moment.

John gave a small smile at Nick’s dark humor, “Take care of yourself, Nicky.”

“Only if you do the same.” Nick replied, extending a hand. John looked at the offered hand for a moment before grasping it in his own. He gave it a firm shake before pulling the tall synth into a hug, affectionately pushing the brim of Nick’s hat down as they pulled apart. His hands are still trembling and his skin has now taken on an unhealthy pale tone, but the motion makes him feel a little better inside. “I’ll see you later, Sparks.”

The corner of Nick’s mouth twisted up into a small smile. John counts that as another victory. Even when things go to hell, and he can barely think (or walk) straight, at least he can get a smile out of Nick.

_Why are you so interested in Nick Valentine?_

The question strikes him unexpectedly, barely registering as another small burst of pain rattles his thoughts. Now is probably the most inconvenient time to ask himself this, but something about it strikes him as urgent. This will probably be the last time they’ll see each other for who knows how long. This is it then. It’s strange to think that he’s spent most of the last three years by the synth’s side and now it’s just… over. John’s gaze flickers down to Nick’s lips and he realizes that he would take it all- the headache, the trembling, the pain- as long as this moment lasted a little longer and he could keep seeing Nick’s smile.

 

_Oh._

That’s why.


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, Shep doesn't remember the first couple of weeks after getting out of the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> Life got hectic. I started classes again, had some car issues that took up more time than necessary and otherwise just have been slammed recently. I don't think I'm going to be able to deliver a chapter each week and still tell this story the way it should be so I'm going to be going onto a non-regular update schedule until further notice. If I get a chapter done in a week? Awesome, it'll get posted. If it takes a month? Also awesome. I don't want to make this fic into something I'm worried about doing because of a deadline. At the end of the day, I want to be able to write this because I love it, not because I said I'd write it.
> 
> Anyway. Here's Shep's next chapter. Any feedback about how the style of chapter worked with pushing the narrative on vs if I had it broken up in a more structural way are greatly appreciated. I'm experimenting.

_"You can't wake up, this is not a dream,_  
_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being,_  
_With your face all made up, living on a screen,_  
_Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline._  
  
_I think there's a fault in my code,_  
_These voices won't leave me alone,_  
  
_Well my heart is gold, and my hands are cold.”_

_Halsey, Gasoline_

-

She lives each day in flashes, broken up by nightmares.

—

She finds an abandoned sleeping bag in one of the deserted houses- _This used to belong to that old couple down the street_ \- and takes it with her. Cogsworth helps her clear out a corner of their - _her_ \- old bedroom and she tries to make herself comfortable. The sun is just about finished setting and she won’t be able to do anything useful wandering around in the dark-

 

_-Her fists are banging against the glass with all the force she can muster, the man- murderer- walks right in front of her, a twisted smile on his lips._

_“We always have a back up-”_

 

-The man offers a hand, a kind smile on his lips. She’s hesitant but takes it after a moment. His palms are rough and lined with callouses but he has a firm handshake. She didn’t notice how cold her hands were until she realizes how warm his are in comparison. The man tips his hat up slightly, “My name’s Preston. I don’t know who you are stranger, but thank you for helping me deal with those raiders.”

She realizes after a moment that Preston is looking at her expectantly. She should be saying something-

_Try starting with you name, love_

She shakes her head softly, pulling her hand back towards her chest and averting her eyes, “You’re welcome. I’m-”

_“-Nora? You ready to go? Don’t hog the bathroom alll day-”_

She’s stumbling over her words again, trying to stay focused on the present situation. She’s Nora, but Nora’s the woman with a house and a husband and a degree. Nora is a woman who shouldn’t have lived this long. The dog tags feel heavy around her neck and she nervously plays with the chain. Her fingers brush over the engraved surface.

 

_“-Did it feel weird? Being referred to as ‘Shepard’ everyday? It’d be weird to never have anyone use my first name.” Nora asks as she and Nate lounge across their bed. Shaun’s taking a nap in the other room and a rare moment of silence has settled over the house._

_Nate doesn’t respond and Nora turned to face him, worried that she had said the wrong thing. He’s staring at the ceiling and teasing the corner of his lip in thought. He turns to her after a moment, “Yes and no. Sometimes it felt like ‘Shepard’ was just the soldier part of me. That’s all the higher ups really cared about anyway. It was like a wall that the rest of me would be hiding behind. But sometimes it was easier to get by everyday with that wall up.”_

_“No need for you to be a soldier now,” Nora said, placing a kiss on Nate’s forehead. Nate smiled and returned her peck with a kiss on the lips. His grin widened slightly and he wagged his eyebrows, “Well, now you know that if you want to strike fear into the hearts of the courtroom, you could have everyone call you ‘Shepard’ instead.”_

_“Hmmm. I’ll have to consider that. It sounds just icy enough to make a corporate middle man freeze mid-introduction.” Nora said jokingly, watching as Nate’s eyes rolled at her terrible pun-_

 

“I’m Shepard.” She mumbles, before raising her voice to a comprehensible level, “Or, that’s what I’d like to be called.”

Preston nods, “Well, Shepard, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you mind if I call you Shep? Or is that too forward?”

“No, that’s fine. Thanks.” She replies, surprised by how easy that was. She half expected Preston to call her out, even though that was ridiculous. Preston turned to ask the man by the computer terminal something and she quietly mouthed the name to herself, snapping back to attention when Preston turned to face her again.

_It’s a wall to hide behind, but sometimes you need a wall._

Shep is exactly the kind of wall she needs.

 

_-Tonight it wasn’t a man who killed Nate. This time it was a large hulking creature with black scales and huge claws. The lizard-like abomination ripped through Nate, his blood splattering the walls of the room like paint. Nora watched in horror as it turned and advanced on her, it’s clawed hand knocking her cryotube away from the wall and onto the floor._

_Shep landed roughly on her back, the creature pressing down on her legs with one foot, oh god let the power armor hold, as the beast leans in, teeth inches away from her face-_

 

“You know the Brotherhood could use a soldier like you” Danse says candidly, if not with a little admiration. “I think you’ve got what it takes.”

Shep glances down at the modified laser rifle in her hands, squeezing the edge of the grip a little harder. She might be a wall, but she’s no soldier. Nate had been the soldier. She meets the Paladin’s gaze again and puts on her best ‘polite conversation’ voice. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’d be a good fit. I appreciate the offer though.”

The Paladin’s slight smile drops but he nods in understanding, “The Brotherhood isn’t for everyone, and it’s good to recognize your own limits. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

 

_-That night the man who shoots Nate turns and his face is made of plastic and wires, glowing eyes unblinking and dead-_

 

“Are you alright, mum?” Codsworth’s voice startles Shep out of her thoughts as they trudge back to Tenpines Bluff. She’s been absentmindedly rubbing her hands together and now they feel raw from the repeated motion.

Shep offers the robot a smile, though she can feel how tired it is. She tries to avoid looking at the small hole located on the robots main unit where a bullet had blown clean through. “I’m fine, Codsworth. But... Thank you for asking.”

 

_-She’s on her knees, Codsworth in a heap on the floor before her as she struggles with removing the maintenance panel on his main unit to assess the damage. Her hands are shaking. There’s so much blood. She’s never killed this much before._

_There’s the distinctive click of a gun cocking and Shep freezes._

_Slowly, she turns and find that man standing beside her, the barrel of his gun leveled at her temple. He is calm and collected and Shep can feel the tears forming at the corner of her eyes, “Please.”_

_“Give me the kid. I won’t ask again.”_

_Shep glanced back down at her arms and finds them empty, she looks back up at the man and he pulls the trigger-_

 

Shep wakes up with a violent start, sucking in air with a hiss. It takes her a second to orient herself and calm her racing heartbeat. She looks to her left and there’s Preston, sitting next to the fire and keeping watch. She collects herself and wanders over next to him, “You should get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

Preston looks tired but the concern is evident on his face, “Are you sure, General? You haven’t slept that long yourself.”

She waves him off and he doesn’t press the issue. He pauses right before settling down on the sleeping mat though, “Tomorrow when we reach Diamond City… Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I’ve already taken up enough of your time by having you escort me, I don’t want to waste anymore of it.” Shep replies, once again employing her ‘polite conversation’ voice.

Preston seems unconvinced but he nods, “Yes ma’am.”

She turns back to the fire and fiddles with her pipboy. There’s a new station in range and Shep has to stop herself from laughing. _The Silver Shroud_. She used to listen to that station on her way to work. She spends her night listening to the broadcast the way a parched man drinks from a well. She and Codsworth aren’t the only relics left, and the voices on her pipboy are like seeing an old friend emerge from the dark and sit down next to her.

Preston convinces her to get another hour of sleep right before dawn. This time she doesn’t dream about metal tubes or factories. Instead, she dreams about a silver submachine gun and a man wrapped up in a monochrome trench coat.

 

_“-I can’t believe you’re taking me to a baseball game.” Nora says in the most monotone voice she can muster. She tries to keep her face impassive but a smile breaks through as she speaks again, “You really are a man of tradition.”_

_“There’s nothing more traditional than American baseball.” Nate agreed, grinning from ear to ear, “We shall eat hotdogs to commemorate the great sport. Followed by peanuts. And if we are vigilant enough, our efforts will be rewarded with another win for the Red Sox.”_

_Nora playfully swatted at his arm, “See? It’s talk like this that’s the reason I don’t bring you to my fancy lawyer events.”_

_“I thought you were just worried about me stealing the show?-”_

 

She never realized how big Fenway Park was until she had seen a whole city fit into it. The twisting alleyways and leaning shacks stacked on top of each other are so different from her memories of perfectly trimmed grass and maintained fences. _Nate would have loved this._

The thought still hurts, but it brings a small smile to her lips all the same.

 

_“-You alright?” Nora asks, taking a seat next to Nate on the couch. It’s dark outside and she woke up to find his side of the bed empty._

_Nate’s got his knees drawn up to his chest and is staring pensively at the wall. They sit in silence for a while before he speaks, “I’m not sure. Lately it feels like I’m just a robot and am just going through the motions of being alive. Like everything is just flashes on a tv screen with blank spaces in between when I’m asleep. I feel like I’m watching my own life on a holotape. And it’s ridiculous because I should be better than this.”_

_Nora doesn’t have a response that would fix this, but she wraps her arms around Nate anyway. She can’t understand what he’s going through, but she can be there for him. “Well, I think you’re better than you think you are.”_

_“Thanks, Love.” Nate responded quietly, “having you in my corner… always makes things a little better.”_

_Nora presses a kiss to his temple, “I’ll always be in your corner, darling, robot or not.”_

 

Her hands don’t shake anymore from extended firefights.

Maybe her body has gotten used to the spike in adrenaline from all the constant fighting. Maybe she’s just gotten used to being a killer.

She presses the button to the next room and crouches down behind the door frame as the steel door slides open. She still has a couple of shots left in the current power cell of her laser rifle, but she quietly snaps a new cell into place. Just in case.

“How you doing in there, Valentine? You hungry? Want a snack?”

Shep’s eyes glance over the room as she leans around the corner, finding it empty except for the man who presumably spoke a moment earlier. He’s got his back to her and there’s nothing but air between his head and her laser rifle. One clean shot should be enough.

She lines up the shot with her scope and exhales slowly until her hands are almost frozen in place. She used to shake like a leaf. The change doesn’t really bother her.

She’s just going through the motions at this point, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank all you guys for your comments and kudos. You guys make my day every time I get an email from the site telling me that someone has taken the time to leave a comment. I think I've replied to almost all the comments on here so far and I'll get the remaining ones replied to in the near future. You guys are wonderful.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://anosrepasi.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to talk headcanons or any other general Fallout stuff, hit me up.


	6. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings and first impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Finally!  
> I struggle with Nick's chapters. And I'm not happy with the formatting of this but it will do.

The universe had one hell of a sense of humor.

Nick sat back in the office chair, resting his feet on the desk in front of him while his good hand massaged his temples. God, he was bored. At this rate, he didn’t need Dr. Amari and her fancy machinery to figure out how old Nick felt listening to the Winter tape over and over again. He had been doing the same thing for days now. The irony of the situation would be downright amusing if it wasn’t for the fact that, unlike the other Nick, there was no dashing dame to put an end to his suffering. Just more holotapes. There wasn’t much else to occupy himself with while being held prisoner for a few weeks in an old vault.

 

_Three weeks, 2 days, 18 hours, and 37 minutes._

 

He really hated his internal chronometer sometimes. This was one of those times.

Nick took the Winter holotape out of his coat pocket and considered plugging it into the terminal in front of him. He had already memorized Winter’s whole speech, and at this point the tape was just a way of breaking up the silence in the room. Hell, he had even memorized the handful of tapes scattered across the desk surface full of vault overseer interviews. Maybe the old Nick and his department should have been spending a bit more time keeping an eye on corporate crime; if Vault Tec, social experiments and “Questionable leadership choices” was any indication.

Nick sighed and put the holotape back in his pocket, glancing at the ghoul currently standing watch outside the door. The ghoul remained unperturbed. As long as Nick didn’t spend to much time messing around on the terminal in the room, the ghoul left him alone and stayed silent. It was a tolerable system.

“Hey Jax! Get down here. Boss wants you to go check something out.” A voice called down from below, and Nick couldn’t help but cringe in recognition. The tolerable ghoul guard was getting replaced with the loudmouth hot-shot guard. Great. Still, Nick was never the kind of person to turn down an opportunity. He waited until the ghoul straightened up and walked out of sight of the room before quickly sitting forward and booting up the terminal in front of him.

Whoever was supposed to be overseer obviously wasn’t meant to have the keys to the kingdom, based on how little the office terminal had on it. No administrative functions, no additional controls, just a welcoming email. He’d have to find the administration computer remotely, then. Nick found the network directory and scrolled through the list, a small frown forming on his lips. There were a lot of still functioning terminals and none of them were labeled. Seems he’ll have to figure it out by trial and error-

“How you doing in there, Valentine? Getting Hungry? Want a snack?” Dino’s voice called out as he slipped into view, a sadistic grin on his face. Nick pushed himself away from the terminal. He just needed a bit more time and he could get himself out of here, it wouldn’t help him to be impatient now. Dino wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box, but he was likely to think that Nick was up to something just by touching the terminal. Once the man thought he knew the story, nothing could convince him otherwise. Wait.

Maybe Nick could buy himself some more time after all.

 

_Retrieving archived notes (case notes/Malone/observations/misc);_   
**_Misc notes:_ **   
_Malone has a little black book he keeps with him, strikes out names of people who he needs taken care of. [non essential, but this man is surprisingly organized for a post apocalyptic gangster]_   
_Doesn’t like cheats and liars. [Again, surprising for a mob boss]_   
_Got lured into this trap because of a girl. [this says a lot about his character, mostly that he has terrible taste in women]_   
 

Well. He had all the info he needed to make this sound convincing, and Nick was nothing short of convincing. He stood up from the desk and walked over to the window, until he was face to face with Dino, minus the glass. “Keep talking meathead. It’ll just give Skinny Malone more time to figure out how to off you.”

Dino sneered but Nick still caught the split-second look of fear that crossed the man’s face. If he had any doubts then this was going to be a cakewalk. Perfect.

Dino stepped closer to the glass, and stuck one finger out against the window, as if he could jab the detective through the glass, “Don’t give me that crap, Valentine. You know nothing and you’ve got nothing.”

Nick’s comeback died on his lips as a shot rang out and Dino’s face slackened, a neat, scorched hole marking the center of his forehead. The man slumped forward and Nick stepped back in surprise, his eyes jumping to the new scorch mark marring the glass inches from where his own face had been. He might be a synth but he still had self-preservation protocols. And only having a sheet of glass between him and a rather swift end moments ago was not very comforting.

 

_Can the self-preservation programming for later, Nicky. Focus on the current situation._

_Clean, precise shot with burn damage and scorch marks? No ballistics? Plasma or Laser weapon. Most likely Laser. Shot from across the room… so that means it’s a rifle._

_Institute or the Brotherhood of Steel are the most likely culprits. But neither of them have a motive to be here, unless Malone has gotten himself into hotter water than an irritable girlfriend. Unlikely._

_Maybe a member of the Minutemen? They also tended to use laser rifles. Also unlikely, especially after Quincy._

_Maybe a Gunner conscript or a scavenger? More likely than an organized group, but also incredibly bizarre seeing as this was a gang hideout. Who in their right mind infiltrates a vault full of gangsters. You can’t sell scavenged goods when you’re full of bullet holes._

 

Nick turned back to the desk, putting some distance between himself and the newly marked window. His hand ghosted over the mostly empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket and he pulled one out as he leaned against the desk, keeping his eyes trained on the door. If this mysterious shooter ended up being part of the Institute or the Brotherhood, they’d shoot him on sight anyway. He might as well stop rationing himself on his cigarette usage. He pulled one of the few remaining sticks from the pack, a low priority feedback loop already jumping into action at the sight of the cigarette.

He raised the cigarette to his lips but waited to light it, totally focused on the window in front of him as the figure of a person stepped into view.

About 5’4” at most. Short black hair that looked surprisingly well maintained for the wasteland. They had their fair share of blemishes, as far as imperfect skin went. Dark eyes. Wearing what looked like a minuteman coat over a simple grey blouse. Well, they weren’t a synth, wearing a brotherhood jumpsuit or wandering around in power armor. That was mildly comforting. They still might shoot him though.

The figure paused in front of the window and lowered their gun, Nick looked up and realized that the main light in the room was placed between where he was standing and the back of the room, so they likely couldn’t see much of him beside his silhouette. He stayed put but he did call out to the stranger, “I don’t know who you are but we’ve got about three minutes before they realize muscle-for-brains isn’t coming back. The sooner you get this door open, the better.”

The figure merely paused for a second before heading to the terminal. A couple of clicks and they were in. Impressive. Highly trained then as well. Mercenary was starting to sound more and more likely.

Nick’s metal hand found the lighter in his pocket and flicked the small dial as the door slid open. He glanced down at the cigarette as the flame caught the tip of the stick, but his eyes jumped up again as the person stepped into the room. They had a feminine appearance but it was always better to double check, especially when meeting someone the first time and- Well. Color him surprised, they had a pipboy. They might not be wearing the suit but Nick knew a vault dweller when he saw one. That would explain the technical training, but it didn’t explain how they managed to get through the vault without dying or where they got a laser rifle-

-A laser rifle with a Brotherhood of Steel emblem scratched into the side of it.

Yep. This is how it ends. They are going to shoot him once they sees he’s a synth.

_You better talk your way out of this, genius._

“I love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress situation. Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?” He commented, keeping an eye on the vault dweller’s hand where it rested on the hilt of their laser rifle. They entered the room and came to an abrupt halt. They hadn’t hadn’t drawn the weapon so they weren’t planning to shoot him on impulse. Yet. “And please correct me if ‘Doll’ ain’t your cup of tea. I try not to misgender someone on the first meeting.”

The person’s eyes narrowed, and Nick tilted his head as the rough quality of their voice registered, as if they hadn’t used it for a long time. “You’re a synth.”

Well. That wasn’t a negative, feminine pronouns it was then. Nick took another drag from his cigarette, his own eyes narrowing. “I’m a detective. Apparently you need one if you shot through half the vault just to get to me.”

The woman tensed and Nick expected her to draw her gun, instead she sighed and crossed her arms in front of her chest, adverting her gaze. “Yeah. I’m looking for someone. But I don’t know where they could have gone, and… I don’t exactly know how long they’ve been gone.”

She had a case. This vault dweller who crossed paths with the Brotherhood at some point, knew what synths were, could hack terminals and somehow managed to fight her way through half an abandoned vault filled with gangsters had a case. Unbelievable.

This woman must have one heck of a story if she needed to find someone that badly.

“Well, simple never seems to make it onto the menu in my line of work. But I’ve worked cases with less.” Nick replied, rolling the words casually as he took the extra couple of seconds to look the woman up and down. She had some firepower on her, but it looked like she had her own set of injuries dogging her as well. She was favoring her left leg to support her weight. _Result of blunt trama? No blood or clothing tears to indicate a wound._ She had some sort of gash along her arm, if the ripped cloth of her jacket and the slightly stained edge was any indication. _Probably a switchblade cut-_ Speaking of her jacket, she kept her arms securely placed in front of her chest, clutching the fabric closer to her body. She was cold. _Possible causes: Sleep deprivation, malnutrition, illness, circulation issues, etc-_

This woman might be skilled, but she wasn’t a brawler. What one lacks in ability one makes up for in determination it seems. He snuffed out his cigarette against the desk, pushing away from it. “If you got a case I’m happy to help. Let’s blow this joint and then we’ll talk.”

The women’s dark eyes flickered up to his before she nodded. She let Nick walk past her before joining him in the hallway, watching impassively as he knelt down next to the remains of Dino’s body and checked the man’s pockets and holster.He was rewarded with a standard 10mm with a full mag and about two dozen extra rounds to go with it. He could work with that.

Nick holstered the gun and the ammo, before setting off for the stairs. The light sound of footsteps was the only indication that the vault dweller was following. He’s never been a fan of the strong, silent types. He always preferred more vocal travel partners in a firefight, less chance of friendly fire when you know where the other person was by their voice. Hopefully, this woman needed his help enough that she wouldn’t shoot him if he unintentionally walked into her scope. Hopefully.

Nick slowed his pace as they reached the main level, his eyes trained on the windowed hallway across the atrium, where three figures were approaching the door. “Hold up, I see a couple of them coming.”

Despite being outnumbered, they had the advantage right now with a clear line of sight and the element of surprise. Nick raised the 10mm pistol as the woman drew her laser rifle. Nick glanced over at the woman, “So how to do you want to play this?”

The woman lowered her rifle and reached into one of her side pockets of her ammo belts, pulling out a frag grenade as the door swished open an a rough voice broke the silence, “Hey Dino! Stop harassing the bot and get down here-”

Hard and Loud it is then.

—

Everything considered, that could have gone worse.

Nick pushed the small cover up from over the service exit of the tunnel, heaving himself back up onto the streets of the Commonwealth. He offered a hand as his silent companion climbed up after him, but didn’t take it too personally when she pointedly helped herself up from the ground. He knew the saying. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and no one shakes a synth’s hand on the first meeting. And for all her selective silence, this women had some sense of charisma. She had convinced Malone’s gal to walk away and in return they had been able to leave the vault without a shot. Minus all the previous shots they took before they had reached the vault’s entrance.

Speaking of which- Nick checked the magazine of his newly acquired 10mm. He only had 6 bullets left. He glanced over at his new companion and found her checking her weapons in a similar fashion. For all her sharp shooting, she obviously was starting to feel the brunt of her injuries. It was already dark outside-

 

_November 8th, 2287 - 18.24h_

 

-and there was the annoyingly accurate chronometer again. He should find a way to program that to be a manual function. Maybe when he has a week off and isn’t worried about switching his language functions for a week. Again. He was getting off track.

 

_Note to self: schedule diagnostic for repetitive functions causing unexpected logic loops/unnecessary logic processes_

 

“You ok, doll?” Nick asked instead, jamming the magazine back into the 10mm. The woman nods but otherwise keeps her eyes focused on her laser rifle. Doesn’t matter how much ammo they have between them, she looks like she’s ready to fall over. “What’s your name?”

She looks up and catches his eyes for a moment before looking away again, “Shep.”

“Well, Shep. I don’t know about you, but this isn’t a place I’d like to stick around long. I know nearby town where we could resupply and you could get some rest, and we could head out for Diamond City in the morning.” Nick proposes, keeping his eyes trained on Shep. He isn’t going to drag her against her will to Goodneighbor, but he won’t just let her stumble back to Diamond City in the dark either. Shep nods once again and Nick motions for her to follow his lead, taking care to keep his pace slow and check over his shoulder often.

It’s about a 10 minute walk, and Nick would breathe out a sigh of relief if he had been programmed with that as an option. The glowing lights might still give him some left over apprehension, even after all these years, but right now they meant shelter. And his companion obviously needs some. Her limp had become more pronounced since the vault, and he could hear her breathing becoming ragged. He slowed his pace until he was side by side with her, watching her in his peripheral vision. Her left foot caught the edge of a small piece of rubble and she stumbled forward for an instant before Nick’s hand shot out to steady her. She flinched away from the contact but managed a rough, “Thanks.”

Well, that’s a start.

They passed underneath the obnoxious Goodneighbor sign and Nick opened the small gate entrance to the town, letting Shep enter before him. He walked through the door behind her and was greeted by the worst person to be Shep’s introduction to Goodneighbor.

“Well well, if it ain’t the detective. Tracking down another wayward husband for his mistress?” Finn was standing right at the entrance, a lit cigarette in hand. Of all the people to be there, it just had to be him. Today was apparently Nick’s day to deal with all the idiots of the Commonwealth. Sometimes he wished his synthetic face could show the same amount of disdain that his- Nicks- human face had been capable of. “Why, someone stand you up?”

“Trying that, what d’ya call it? Evasive language on me?” Finn retorted unperturbed, stepping closer and dropping his cigarette to the ground, his predatory gaze shifting to Shep. “And who are you, huh? Valentine’s new dick-in-training?”

Shep stayed silent but her hand ghosted over her holstered laser rifle. Finn sneered and took another step closer, his eyes jumping down at Shep’s holstered weapon. Nick immediately also took a step closer to Shep, and her eyes jumped to him cautiously before returning to the menace in front of her. _Great move, genius. How about you don’t crowd the new gal with trust issues._

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. You know you look like the kinda girl in the market for insurance.” Finn said, and Shep flicked the safety of her rifle off despite not drawing the weapon yet. Nick’s eyes searched the storefronts and he made eye contact with one of Hancock’s watchboys. The ghoul was following the exchange actively and nodded at Nick, pushing off the store front he was leaning against and moving towards the group.

“This is Goodneighbor, sweetheart, if you don’t act friendly, ‘accidents’ will start happening.” Finn was within a couple of feet of Shep now, and she had drawn her gun while Nick wasn’t looking. Shep’s eyes were locked onto Finns and for every second the thug didn’t back down, Shep looked more and more likely to strike out first.

“Woah, hold up, time out everyone.” Hancock’s voice cracked through the scene, booming and sharp.

Finn jerked away from Shep, turning to face Hancock as the ghoul emerged from alleyway running next to the State house. Hancock wasn’t carrying his shotgun or his smaller pistol, but Nick could see Fahrenheit trailing behind him, keeping a respectable distance. Hancock casually surveyed the scene, his eyes locking onto Nick’s for a moment before returning his focus to Finn. “Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to town, and you’re hassling his friend here with that extortion crap? Good to see you, Nick.”

 

_“Good to see you Nick” possible interpretations: 2_

_1 - Picking up the conversation where it had been left off at the last point of interaction? Unlikely. Now’s not the time. Apology? Maybe._

_2 - Hancock knows to some extent that he’s been missing for the last couple of weeks. Probably wants an explanation. Much more likely._

 

“Hancock.” Nick replied, keeping his voice neutral. They could discuss that part of the story later, preferably when Finn and Shep weren’t within earshot.

“Someone walks in those gates for the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” The ghoul continued to stroll over to the group, circling around Finn so that the man had to face Hancock and turn his side to Shep and Nick. Smart.

Finn took a few more steps closer to Hancock, widening the space between him and Shep. She lowered her gun but kept it drawn. Finn was completely focused on the ghoul in front of him now, “What do you care, she ain’t one of us. Hell, the detective ain’t either.”

Hancock smiled and Nick looked away for a moment. He knew that smile. He saw it every damn time McDonough made a speech talking about how he had made the city safer after the ghouls were kicked out. And he hated it even more every time he saw the same soulless politician’s grin on Hancock. The ghoul in question kept the easy smile on as he spoke again, “No love for your mayor, Finn? I said, let ‘em go.”

These days, Hancock’s threats came out rough and low, like a growl.

Finn merely motioned towards Shep, causing her to raise her gun slightly. Finn merely scoffed at the motion, “You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor.”

Nick crossed his arms and tried to ignore the negative feedback loop that started as Hancock spoke again, his voice painfully casual and inviting. Hancock had always been good about waiting until the right moment to strike, and he had a knack for lowering someone’s defenses. Especially when someone decided to threaten him. “Come on man, This is me you’re talking about. Let me tell you something-”

Nick kept his eyes firmly on Finn and Hancock. The ghoul sauntered up to Finn, placing his left hand on the man’s shoulder and pulling him forward slightly while his right hand reached for the knife he kept in the waistline of his pants, just hidden behind his right hip-

_“One of these days, you’re going to forget about that knife and stab yourself on accident.” Nick chided as he watched John stuff the sheathed blade into the waistline of his pants before putting on his jacket._

_John gave a short bark of laughter, “Oh, trust me, Sparks. I am aware of every single weapon on my body.”_

_He flashed Nick a devious smile as he double checked the blade and holster on his forearm, “But anyone I run into looking for a fight sure as hell isn’t._

-before pulling it out and quickly stabbing Finn in the gut several times. “Why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here.”

Shep visibly flinched beside Nick and his eyes flickered onto her form before returning to Hancock, who was watching dispassionately as he let go of Finn’s shoulder. The man collapsed and fell to the ground at Hancock’s feet. Hancock pulled out a small rag and began cleaning the blade as he looked over at Shep. “You okay, sister?”

Shep’s eyes jumped to Finn’s corpse before returning to meet Hancock’s gaze, but she switched the safety and holstered her rifle. “You’re a ghoul?”

“Yeah, you like it? I think it gives me a sexy king of the zombies look. Real hit with the ladies.” Hancock winked at Shep and she averted her eyes. Apparently the gal wasn’t fond of flirting, who would have guessed. Hancock took a step closer, keeping his hands raised in pacifying gesture, “Now, there are a lot of radioactive freaks like me walking around, so you might wanna keep those questions on the down low. Otherwise, Goodneighbor is of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome here.”

“Except extortionists.” Shep retorted sarcastically, nodding towards Finn.

Nick raised his eyebrows, quickly glancing at his companion. Outside of her conversation with Malone’s gal, that had been the most brazen comment she had made so far in his presence. Hancock didn’t seem to mind, he merely grinned at her comment. “Gotta remind people every now and then what happens if you forget who’s in charge. You seem like a smart girl though, so I’m sure we won’t need to have that conversation.”

Hancock looked behind him and whistled over to the watchboy that Nick had seen earlier, turning back to Shep as the other ghoul approached. “In the meantime though, you’re a guest. And you look ready to fall over. Marty here will escort you over to the rexford hotel and I’ll have em get a room ready for you, free of charge. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill.”

Shep stayed silent but pointedly looked over at Nick, making the synth realize she was probably waiting to hear his opinion on this. She probably didn’t feel that trustworthy after watching Hancock stab someone to death in front of her. “You go ahead and get some rest. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow morning.”

Shep nodded and began to follow the ghoul Hancock had introduced. She looked back once before turning the corner and disappearing behind the brick of the statehouse.

Hancock had kept her in sight until she turned the corner and then turned back to Nick, taking the moment to look the synth from head to toe before leveling his gaze with Nick’s. “Got a few minutes to talk, Nick?”

“You got a topic in mind, Hancock?” Nick replied gruffly, but followed the ghoul as he began to walk towards the statehouse, nonetheless.

Hancock waited until they had entered his ‘office’ space, taking a a seat on one of the red couches, “The word around town is that you went missing on a case recently.”

He lit up a cigarette, took a deep breathe and then exhaled the smoke into a precise line, keeping his eyes locked on Nick’s.

“Sounds like one hell of a story. I’d love to hear it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all so wonderful, as usual. Hopefully you really enjoyed this chapter.


	7. Grounding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like any fight, there's always a recovery period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was highly tempted to print this chapter out in all of its rewrites and variations, stack them in a nice, neat pile, douse them in gasoline and watch them burn.  
> I'm incredibly sorry this took so long to update.  
> I, at some point, realized I should just cut the current chapter in half and get you guys a decent update instead of trying to struggle with the 5000+ word chapter
> 
> And shout out to Polarcapsicles and Firelight_and_Rain for letting me rant about this chapter and bounce ideas off you!

_“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”_

_\- Sylvia Plath_

—

It’s someone knocking on the door that wakes her up.

More accurately, it’s someone knocking on the door and Shep being just conscious enough to register the way her entire body aches that wakes her up completely. She bites back a yell as she rolls onto her back, her muscles convulsing and complaining from the sudden movement. The stimpak she had taken the night before had healed up any open wounds, but it did nothing for overexertion.

The knocking pauses and a rough voice voice calls out from past the doorway. “Sorry to bug you, ma’am. But Hancock would like a word.”

It takes Shep a moment to place the speaker, The ghoul guard. The same one who had helped her reach the hotel the night before.

Her voice is parched when she speaks, but she keeps her words clipped and controlled. “I’m fine. Give me a minute.”

She sits up slowly, a short hiss escaping from her lips as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, her right leg seizing up as an aftereffect of her limp. Her armor is scattered in a heap next to the bed, within reach but also without care of putting it in order. Her clothes are in a similar state. She reaches over to the bedside table and carefully picks up Nate’s dogtags, replacing them around her neck in a practiced motion. The pipboy remains untouched on the table as she gets dressed, leaving all of her light armor on the floor but making sure to grab her pistol before she heads for the door.

The ghoul guard is leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the small hallway, arms crossed and one leg slightly bent behind the other. He’s looking to the left with an unfocused gaze and there is something so human about his pose it catches Shep by surprise as she opens the door. The guards attention snaps to her, and he straightens up, his posture closed and formal. His eyes jumped from her body to her feet, “It looks like those stimpaks did their job pretty well. Goodneighbor doesn’t have much in the way of a doctor so you’ll probably want to get everything checked out in Diamond City once you and Valentine get there.”

His eyes had jumped up again while he was speaking, but he kept them averted, as if he was talking to someone over her shoulder. In return she found her gaze roaming over his ruined face. While the dark did it’s part to hide some of the details of the ghoul’s face, it also accentuated the noticeable differences. In the light, she could see everything, but she could also see all the ways that his face had once looked human. Her curiosity outweighed the small sense of disgust she felt looking at the ghoul.

His skin, or what was left of it, was pockmarked. The places where the skin had fallen away were reddish and raw looking, while what skin remained was tight and bleached, like scar tissue. His nose was gone, but the cavity it left wasn’t horrifying. His eyes were the strangest thing about him. The sclera of his eyes was a light blue, and his pupils were milky pale circles that took a moment to find. They gave him the look of a blind man, and Shep found the hairs on the back of her neck raising as his pupils shifted from where they were to meet her gaze. He held it for a moment before once again looking away, awkwardly motioning to the hallway. “Should I give you a moment or are you ready to go?”

She realized that she had just been staring at him in silence for the last few minutes, and doubled back to his earlier comment. Hancock. Right. The walking museum exhibit. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

The ghoul shoots her a quick smile and she closes the door again, taking a moment to sweep over the room. She hadn’t had the chance to sleep in a real bed in quite awhile, but the room felt no more homely to her than her sleeping bag back in Sanctuary. Just like a hotel room, you occupy the space but you never stay long. Not that she had any real desire to stay anywhere for very long these days.

 

_“What do you say- forever?” Nate asks, as they stand outside their new home and drink it all in. Green lawn, picket fence, good neighborhood. Nora can hear the smug tone to his voice an tries not to boost his ego too much. Though he did a great job finding this place._

_She makes a show of taking a few steps closer and examining the side of the house as if looking for flaws. “Hmm. I won’t make any promises, but I think I could tolerate it here for forever.”_

_Nate’s enthusiasm is almost palpable and Nora gives a short laugh as he grabs her hand, picks her up in one smooth motion and carries her through the door._

 

Shep freezes, her hand shooting out and connecting with the small table near the door as she leans against it for support, her breathe knocked away.

 

_Shut up. Shut up. shut up._

_Stop thinking about him. Just stop._

 

She swallows away the sudden lump in her throat and quickly gathers her things, the newly replaced pipboy holding her down like an albatross. The weight isn’t comforting, but it keeps her grounded. She leaves the room without a second look.

The ghoul is still waiting patiently in the hallway and they make their way towards the main stairs. Another ghoul shuffles past them and Shep’s head whips around as the man passes, her eyes wide.

“You ok?” The watchman asks, noticing her abrupt movement.

“I just thought I saw someone I knew. It’s nothing.” She replies, turning back towards the stairs and making her stride a little longer. The ghoul leads the way and they stay quiet until they reach the lobby when a new voice calls out, “Hey Marty, its good to see you.”

The ghoul freezes, his eyes swinging until they land on a middle aged man near the entrance of the lobby. The man gives a small wave and Shep watches as Marty gains a tense smile in response. “Fred. Long time no see.”

Fred seems unperturbed by the forced nature of the ghoul’s smile, and continues on without a pause. “Give John my regards and let him know I’ll have a new batch ready in about a day or two.”

Marty’s smile flickers, but he nods nonetheless. “Will do.”

Shep and Marty walk past the man, and the ghoul lets his smile fall the moment they walk outside. Shep gives the ghoul a questioning look, and he replies cryptically. “Guess we’re both seeing ghosts today.”

The rest of the walk is quiet until the duo is right outside the statehouse. Marty glances over at Shep, his hand hovering on the door handle into the main foyer. “You know. If you’re going to be in Goodneighbor a lot, you should join a crew.”

Shep raises an eyebrow at the ghoul and he continues quietly, “Goodneighbor loves its sense of personal liberties, but its not the best place for a loner. There’s a big difference between being on your own here and having someone watching your back. The watch keeps the peace, but it doesn’t keep an eye on people. Just… keep that in mind.”

Shep narrowed her eyes, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Bobby No-Nose normally has something open, and you seem to be one of the few smoothskins who knows how to not ask too many questions. I’d see if she has a job that needs an extra hand.” Marty said, pulling the door open and motioning for Shep to enter.

She nodded and stepped through the door. “Thanks for the tip.”

Marty merely nods, they enter the foyer and Marty looks up at the spiral staircase leading up to the floor above them. “If you want to stay here, I’ll go see if Hancock is waiting for you. Feel free to look around.”

Shep watches as the ghoul ascends the staircase before pulling off into one of the side rooms, full of cases and cabinets. The room is empty with only a few lights creating a dusty glow in the space. She has to squint but she can make out the inscriptions written on the cases as she curiously glances at each container as she passes. Most of them are empty, the glass shattered and the contents long gone. Some are still in place, mostly small trinkets from the revolutionary days along with boxes full of paper.

She circles around the room and ends up in front of the largest display case, the glass long ago destroyed and removed from the room. Now all that remains was a small wire stand, similar to a coat rack. Shep glanced down at the small plaque when a voice startled her, “That case was hell to break into.”

——

He had been waiting long before Marty had knocked on the door to his office. To be fair, he had been waiting to talk to the vault dweller since Nick had left the night before, after quickly and begrudgingly shared his story. Hancock had seen his fair share of vault dwellers drift through Goodneighbor. They were memorable, if not few and far between. He had seen his fair share of them bite the bullet as well. Vaulties never lasted long in this town.

Most Vaulties don’t pull off a solo infiltration mission with a laser rifle either.

She actually might be some sort of miracle worker who clawed her way out of a vault. She might also be lying her ass off for currently unknown reasons. Either way, Hancock had no intention of underestimating her. It’s always underestimating the little people that gets people in his position killed. He glances over at Fahrenheit where she’s sharpening a combat knife in the corner of the room, hidden from the doors and with a bird eye view of the rest of the space. Her eyes darted up to his and she gave the knife one last scrape against the whetstone before pocketing it and the knife. She raised her right hand and spelled out letters in quick succession.

_P-A-W-N_

She raised both hands to frame her face and made two staccato nods with her hands before crossing her arms once again.

_Pay Attention._

Glad they were on the same page.

Hancock shifts his attention back to the window as Marty knocks on the door with three curt knocks before letting himself in and closing the door gently behind him.

“New gal get my message?” Hancock asked lazily, keeping his eyes on the outside view of the street. He could hear Marty shuffle a few steps inside behind him, the air punctured by a small sigh.

“Yes, but John-” Marty starts, and Hancock raises a hand, cutting the ghoul off. He takes his time looking away from the window, casually walking over to the couch and offering the watchman an easy grin. “Come on man, this is just standard procedure. If the new girl gives off any indication that she won’t be able to handle whatever Bobbi’s scheming, I’ll personally pull her out of that situation myself.”

He can see Fahrenheit staring him down over Marty’s shoulder and has to maintain his composure as he watches the redhead roll her eyes at his statement. She never is one for empty reassurances. Marty looks no less concerned but takes in a low, steady breathe. “Fine. She’s downstairs, by the way.”

“Perfect. You two stay here. I’m not expecting it to be a long chat.” He makes his way down to the first floor silently, motioning for the guards to take a quick walk as he enters the display room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the shadows of the space. The vaultie has her back towards him, her attention caught on the large shattered case in the center of the room, exactly opposite of where he’s standing. She’s dressed up in all her light armor, a 10mm at her waist and that infamous laser rifle of hers strapped to her back. She’s not going to find a fight here in Goodneighbor unless she starts one, but the girl is prepared for anything apparently.

To be fair, he can feel his own knife holster shift slightly underneath the sleeve of his coat, the combat knife ready and waiting to be drawn at a moments notice if he needs it. He isn’t really one to talk about trusting people.

He waits a few second before speaking up, drinking in every detail about the unaware Vaultie that he can. “That case was hell to break into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all are wonderful. Just. btw. I love your comments so much.
> 
> And if you haven't already or are feeling shy, feel free to come hang with me on [tumblr](http://anosrepasi.tumblr.com/). Im sure a few people on here will tell you I don't bite, i just talk about Fallout 4 way too much.


	8. Shadowed Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That case was hell to break into.”
> 
> Two cautious individuals aren’t very likely to trust each other from the beginning, but there is a healthy admiration for the potential danger the other one embodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! so. it's been a while. I finished my final project for my semester in architecture in the meantime and got bronchitis. So hopefully y'all didn't mind the wait too much.

She moves like a well-oiled machine.

She turned and had her gun raised and ready by the time he’s finished speaking, smooth as a bolt-action rifle. Despite all his mistrust surrounding this woman, he can’t help but admire the fluidity of her movements and the precision of her aim. He doesn’t have enough patience for careless fighters, and this woman’s stance is anything but careless. She makes no move to speak and Hancock doesn’t mind, if they want to converse in actions right now, he’s down to match her step by step.

He merely crosses his arms, as if signaling her turn. His pose remains relaxed as the Vaultie circles around one of the display cases, creating a barrier between them. He can hear her muffled footsteps giving the room it’s tempo as she moves from one side to the other, cautious and steady. He takes a few confident steps in the other direction, his own footsteps making a hollow reprise to her own, before he’s leaning against the wall in a shadowy corner of the room.

This is a dance like any other- and Hancock might not be as good at it as Fahr is, but he’s picked up a few things.

_“Want to get a good grasp on someone’s character? Watch how they react to violence. Catch them by surprise. See how they handle being caught red handed. Those three situations are enough to make a guess on what kind of person you’re dealing with.”_

So far this vaultie was proving to be one smooth operator. She had only flinched at Finn’s death, and payed no mind to his corpse once the conversation had shifted back onto her. Catch her by surprise and she was immediately on the defensive, but she wasn’t trigger happy.

She sure as hell wasn’t an average vault dweller.

They’re done circling around each other for now, and the tempo becomes quiet, beating along to the inhale and exhale of their breathes. Hancock finds himself waiting, finding the length of time a little extensive even for his tastes.

“What do you want?” The Vaultie finally asks, her voice is hushed, the words cracking apart.

_To figure out how you operate._

“To see if you’re up for hire.” He replied calmly, keeping his eyes trained on her in response.

She keeps her gun well trained and sizes him up from her place across the room. He’s just as much of an unknown as she is to him. She takes another step around a case, an while she might be farther away from him, she creates more of an open space between them.

_Does she think distance is the only factor determining who has the upper hand here?_

“Why me?” She asks, keeping her voice level and drone-like. _Smart move, make it seem like you’re not looking for answers._

“You walked into a vault, supposedly killed at least a dozen people, and then walked right back out again with Nick Valentine.” He answers after a moment, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps into the empty distance between them. He purposefully glances down at the contents of one of the cases as he passes by, as if disengaged from the conversation. Hancock takes his time looking back up at the woman- her eyes are still locked on his form.

“I’m in need of someone who is capable and knows how to keep their head down.” His eyes flicker up to her gaze, “It seems to me you’re the best candidate for the job.”

He takes another step closer and waits for her response. There was only one short case between them now. He could easily lunge forward and disarm her from this range. It wouldn’t take much to have her on her knees as long as he was quick enough. She could also just shoot him from point blank range, as long as she didn’t hesitate. Anything was possible.

_Lets see if how far we can push the line then._

He cleared the distance between them, his actions slow and methodical until he was standing only a foot or so away from the Vaultie, with the display case being the only thing between them. The girl had taken one step back so that she could maintain her posture and keep her pistol level. Hancock grinned and leaned forward, his arms resting on the top of the case as he looked at her from the opposite side of the sights on her 10mm.

“So. What do you say?”

—

He reminded her of a cat.

The way he stepped through the shadows and the rough-yet-silky texture to his words as he spoke made her think of some sleek and shadowy beast, stalking its pray in the dark. Claws sharp and waiting. She watched how he circled around the room, his eyes catching a stray beam of light sporadically, the pupils giving off an unnatural reflection each time it happened.

He might move with a calculated purpose, but she kept her gun trained on him every step of the way. She had learned her lesson in Cambridge, and while this ghoul in front of her wasn’t feral, she had seen how quickly they could go from slow and stumbling to lurching and sprinting, all it took was something to tip them off.

The mayor might be keeping it slow right now, with all his disinterested glances, but she had seen him transition into a killer once before already.

Shep had no plans to be on giving him an opportunity to do so again.

So far she had been able to stay alive this long by being a good shot and a fast runner. The mayor was standing between her and the door, so that didn’t leave many option if this turned violent.

Would she shoot him if needed? Yes. Without a doubt.

Could she? It depended on which of them was quicker.

She kept her gun vigilant.

There was only one case between them now, and Shep focused on keeping her breathing even as he sauntered closer. The hairs on the back of her neck rose he casually stepped right in front of her, leaning against the case between them as Shep took a step back, eyes trained on the ghoul.

She wondered if he heard the small hitch in her breathe as she took that step back, her body already going through the motions of a shot.

_-Step 1: breathe in and exhale_

_Step 2: steady yourself and aim_

_Step 3: fire-_

She had to keep her finger locked in place and avoid pulling the trigger as a reflex.

He gave her a cheap smile, his eyes dancing to meet her gaze around the gun pointed at his forehead.

“So. What do you say?”

He was completely relaxed, as if leaning against a bar waiting for a drink or a dance. His smile was synthetic, similar to the way that the ghoul’s voice had taken on a cheery pitch before he had stabbed that man at the gate. Shep found herself waiting for even the smallest tinge of movement, anything to indicate that he was going to stop waiting and lunge at her throat.

_Trust your instincts. If they say shoot, shoot. If they say wait, there’s probably a good reason for it._

She had two options. Shoot or not shoot. She studied the twisted, scarred face in front of her and a good part of her mind said ‘shoot’.

She gave that soulless smile one last glance and started lowering her pistol instead.

“And what, possibly, could you offer me?”

Because right now the only thing she wanted in this post-apocalyptic nightmare was to find Shaun, and she highly doubted that a walking museum exhibit was going to be able to help with that. Especially when he was blocking her way out of the room.

“Caps. Chems. A good word with the local stores. I can be flexible.” Hancock replied, his voice neutral. He carefully straightened up and took a few steps backwards, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Now that the gun had been taken out of the equation, he seemed less interested in trying to play the intimidation game.

She had no use for chems, and caps where only a little more useful, but maybe she could put another option on the table. “How well do you know your town?”

“Sister, it’s my civic duty as mayor to know almost everything.” He replied, a smug smile forming on his face, “you looking for something… or somebody, in particular?”

“If I do this job for you, and need information later, will you be able to deliver?” She kept her answer vague but forceful, watching as the ghoul tilted his head, contemplating her offer as she holstered her gun and crossed her arms. If this detective idea didn’t work out, Goodneighbor seemed like the next best bet for finding a murderer.

“If I know anything that you’re looking for I’ll tell you.” He said finally, crossing his arms to mirror Shep’s posture, “But I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Shep narrowed her eyes, before taking a breathe and looking away. “I’ll do the job.”

“I’ll have Marty give you all the details then. Valentine is at the Memory Den.” Hancock replied briskly turning to leave with no further ceremony. He left the room as quiet as when he had entered, leaving Shep standing alone among the dusty cases and the memory of shattered glass.


	9. Saudade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shep's Goodneighbor adventure comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Kent Connolly. So much.

_Saudade: A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return._

—

Her experience of Goodneighbor ends with her stepping into a building that smells like home.

She is Alice in the Looking Glass. Walking off the streets of Goodneighbor as Marty points her towards the neon sign and stepping into the theater, wearing her best dress and running her hand against the rough brick as she’s lost in the crowd of waiting patrons.

The skeleton of the ticket booth is still standing at the end of the hall, and when Shep breathes in she can taste the smoky sent of the old wood, the tang of perfume and the dense, dusty flavor of the old curtains and chalk. She blinks and she’s standing among the crowd, a rush of voices surrounding her; couples, children, close friends chatting quietly. They all speak over one another, the noise a plesent din in the vaulted room, all in anticipation for the show to begin. The noise spikes as the curtains rise and the lights dim,

A hush fall over the room,

A woman walks onto the stage, her wine colored dress as dark as the curtains behind her, her blond hair glinting in the light,

“You lost, honey?”

Shep’s eyes snap open and only the woman in the red dress remains, standing at the other end of the hollowed out room, watching her from what remains of the stage.

She’s no longer surrounded by the hushed whispers of a waiting audience but the whirring of machines, contrary of the metallic pods scattered around the room, some with people lounging inside.

“Darling?”

Shep’s attention snaps to the woman, realizing she hadn’t responded to her earlier question. She opens her mouth but the words lodge themselves into her throat, leaving her to choke on them as she tries to speak.

She’s tired. She’s so tired.

She’s tired of the way her body aches at the the abuse its suffered the last couple of weeks. She’s tired of playing word games with strangers, of bargaining and soliciting and persuading. She’s tired of waking up and having to remember where she is when she opens her eyes every morning. She wants to go home.

But home isn’t the skeleton structure of a destroyed neighborhood, home is- home doesn’t exist anymore.

“You’re Nick’s new client, arn’t you?”

The woman’s voice has lost it’s sharp edge, replaced with something that makes Shep feel rotten to the core, something that sounds like pity and she doesn’t know why.

She finds herself nodding, keeping herself occupied examining the nearest pod, her eyes raking over the machinery and the bald man laying inside, his face expressionless. How long would it take her to take one of them apart? To figure out how it worked… to put it back together again? Would it be enough to forget where she was for a bit?

The woman is speaking again, motioning to a nearby couch in the large room, her voice gentle in the silence. “Nick’s just finishing up with Amari, he’ll be up in a bit. Feel free to take a seat, dear.”

Shep nods again and starts moving towards a chair with a pod breaking her line of sight to the stage, eager to escape the blonde woman’s gaze. She’s about to sit down when the first few notes of the Silver Shroud intro pierce the air before being cut off, followed by a quiet curse. The door to her left is slightly ajar, and Shep pauses momentarily before cautiously pushing the door open as another note sings through the air. The sound of the intro continues as Shep steps into a small room. Half of the space is occupied by one of those pods, while the remainder of the room conatins a small bed, a desk, and a man of small stature wearing an old suit.

“Irma, is the memory pod loaded up? Oh… you’re not Irma.” The man turns away from the desk and Shep realizes he’s another ghoul, his eyes a sky blue against his decaying face.

The corners of the ghoul’s mouth turn up to give Shep a small, polite smile as he turns back to the equipment on the desk, which Shep can now see is a ham radio and what looks like a holotape player. The intro music finishes and the first few lines of dialogue begin to play, and recognition feels like an electric shock.

The Gears of Boston- one of the early episodes in the Mechanist arc, which was Nate’s favorite.

Shep closes her eyes as she leans against the doorframe, and it’s like she’s sitting on the couch again, listening to the evening show. She stands in silence for several minutes, letting herself conjure up the image of her house around her. Softly, the ghouls voice oulls her back into the present. “A-Are you a fan of the Silver Shroud?”

His voice is… kind. Honest. And Shep keeps her eyes closed, not quite ready to open them just yet. But this time, when she tries to speak the words come easy, flowing and unrestrained. “Yeah, my family and I used to listen to all the new episodes together, and my husband and I liked to replay them after dinner some nights.”

Her voice is soft and she can hearing the longing in her words as she speaks.

The ghoul doesn’t respond and shep opens her eyes when she’s ready. His mirky blue eyes are trained on her, and theres something unreadable in his expression. He motions towards a simple wooden chair placed near the desk where he’s working, “Would you like to sit down?”

Shep steps further into the room, and takes a seat, eyes trailing over the ghoul’s setup on the desk. The holotape player is handmade, the machine too compact for what would have been salvageable. The Ham radio is also a mix of different pieces, probably allowing for some additional functions. The ghouls peaks up again, his tone matching Shep’s. “My mom used to play an episode for me before bed as a bedtime story when I was a kid.”

He chuckles,taping on the holotype player with an absentminded precision, “When I told her I got accepted into the CIT Engineering program, she told me that I’d ‘better not come home with an army of robots.’”

Shep lets out a surprised laugh and the ghoul gives her a sad smile. “You’re from then, arn’t you? Before the war.”

Shep nods, and tis time the words are harder to come by. The ghoul waits.

“My family was in a vault and we were in cryogenic storage, I only… woke up a little while ago.”

“Like Mister Abominable.” The ghoul offers, the stretch of skin where his eyebrows once were scrunched together in thought.

“He was a caveman… right?” Shep finds herself asking, the memory pulling at the edge of her thoughts- something about ice and a ship.

“Yep. Got frozen in an iceberg and then wrecked havoc once he was released until the shroud stepped in.” The ghoul gives her an appraising look, pausing momentarily, “You don;t really look like you’re a bad guy though.”

The smile on Shep’s face hurts, but it feels real and she can’t help but have it tug at her lips.

“You’re from the old days too, huh? You said you were an engineering student?” She asks quietly, and her smile drops as she watches his become more strained.

“Yeah, if you didn’t make it to a vault and the radiation poisoning didn’t kill you… you became a ghoul.” His gaze drops down to his hands and Shep feels a pang of guilt as she watches him flex his hands as if remembering a phantom pain. “The first couple of years after the bomb dropped were bad. Real bad.”

Shep leans forward, placing a hand on the ghouls knee. She lets it stay there for a moment before gently pulling away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It ok,” he mumbles quietly, “It hurts but its nice to remember the good days, too.”

He seems to remember himself and straightens up, before offering a hand, “I’m Kent, by the way. Kent Connolly.”

Shep recognizes the name but can’t place it, but takes the ghouls hand and gives it a small squeeze, “I’m Shep. It’s real nice to meet you, Kent.”

“Yeah, I’m- I’m glad we ran into each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, first of all I want to say thank you for all your wonderful comments, kudos and hits (I'm at over 4000 hits and over 300 kudos thats amazing) Seriously, thank you. I can't stress how much your support keeps me writing this and being excited to keep writing it.
> 
> Second, I keep forgetting to mention this but recently I've started uploading some new stories for Fallout 4 here on AO3. So if you like Sole/Valentine, Companion-centered fics, The new 'deserves a hug' character from the Far Harbor DLC or some additional stories from the Kintsukuroi universe, you might like some of my other stuff. I also take prompts on my tumblr account which will probably end up here as well.
> 
> Third, like usual, feel free to hit me up on tumblr if you want to! I met some awesome people because they were fans of my stories and then I got to know them and its awesome?


	10. Ghostlights (p.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick finally gets a chance to learn about his new client without people attempting to shoot them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all.
> 
> So it's been a while. I've had a lot of personal changes occur in my life and up until very very very recently I haven't had a chance to write. I can't promise regular updates following this but I'm trying to get back into the fandom and into my writing because I miss this dearly.
> 
> On a happier note, today is literally my birthday. So any kudos and (especially) comments you leave on this chapter are going to be considered a birthday gift from you to me. I appreciate and love every single one of them.

Irma was waiting for him at the top of the staircase.

“Your new client is here.” She says simply and Nick shoots her a smile in thanks.

She waits until he’s ascended the stairs to the main level and takes a place on his left side, walking with him back towards the Den’s main room. Once they reach the hollowed out room she quickly checks that all of her other customers have left before speaking again, her voice low and concerned. “I hope you can help that girl. When she first came in… I know what it looks like when someone’s seeing ghosts.”

“Sometimes I worry that you’re a little too good at your job, Irma.” Nick responds carefully, familiar with the blond’s reaching empathy. “You’ve got a big heart for this profession.”

“Like you’re any different, Nick.” Irma quipped back, “running off tracking down missing people, usually for free, because someone asked you to do so. Plus, who would be the face of the Den if I wasn’t here? We both know Amari would lock the doors if she had to be social.”

“Well, if you ever need a day off, I’m sure this ugly mug wouldn’t scare away all your customers.” Nick teased, pulling Irma into a one armed hug with his good hand. “Maybe a break from the agency would do me good.”

“Scare them away? You mean steal them away to Diamond City with those striking yellow eyes of yours.” Irma flirted right back, electing a laugh out of Nick.

“Go on, you big softie.” Irma chuckles, ducking out from under Nick’s arm and pointing him towards Kent’s room. “Don’t leave that poor girl waiting.”

Nick tips his hat and starts heading towards Kent’s door when Irma’s voice calls out again, “And Nick? You take care of yourself. You gave Amari and I quite a scare by disappearing like that.”

Irma had dropped her easy smile and for all her acting as the femme fatale of the Den, Nick could see the concern on her face. Guilt always registered strangely in his mechanical body, showing up as a unpleasant buzz of his skin sensors along his neck and chest, like something he needed to brush away.

“I’ll be careful,” He promised quickly, giving her a reassuring smile, “I have the very important job of bringing you antiques after all. It’s a very coveted position.”

Her responding, _ha, funny,_ is nonplussed but she nods at him anyway, and Nick returns to the task of tracking down Shep. As he get closer to Kent’s room, he raises his hand to knock on the door- and stops.

He can hear laughter- quiet and clear and nothing like Kent’s own reedy chuckle.

The laughter dies away and is replaced with voices: Kent’s quick and sometimes jumbled tone mixed with a low, rounded voice that fills in the spaces between Kent’s words.

_Had Irma identified the wrong person?_

The woman he had traveled with so far has only spoken in clipped, broken sentences with a crackling voice in his presence. The woman in the room had the same timber as Shep, but the tone was completely different. Well, if this was a case of mistaken identity, he really had one surefire way of checking.

Nick tapped on the door a few times and listened to the voices inside die away before Kent called out, “Come in!”

Nick gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room, his eyes scanning- and assumptions be damned, there was Shep, sitting in a simple chair near Kent’s desk. Same short black hair, same dark eyes and thin lips and pointed chin. Different voice.

_So is that what her voice sounds like normally?_

Same guarded look when she caught sight of him and recognized who had entered the room. Guess that would be the last he was going to hear of low, rounded voices and quiet laughter.

“Sorry to interrupt- but I’m ready to leave whenever you are, Shep.” He says sincerely, tilting his hat in greeting to the duo, “Good to see you, Kent.”

“You too, Nick. Any luck with finding those memories you were tracking down?” Kent replies, sincere and kind, his familiarity with Nick’s visits always tend to surprise the synth. It’s not like the info is very confidential, and the only person who Nick had preferred to be keeping in the dark about his trips to the Den had made his position known weeks ago.

He watches something shift in Shep’s expression though, something that looked like curiosity.

He brushes it away with a small self-depreciating sigh, “Not yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

Kent’s expression is sympathetic and Nick can’t help but notice Shep’s gaze flickering between them, her face composed and calculating.

She rises slowly from her chair, and Nick can see she’s still favoring one leg over the other. Goodneighbor isn’t known for its options when it comes to medical care so the sooner they get her to Diamond City, the better. Kent’s voice rings out again and Nick realizes he’s gotten wrapped up in his own thoughts, catching the end of Kent’s words. “-I hope you end up finding them.”

He gives the ghoul a smile and keeps his focus on Shep as she hesitates before leaving. Nick starts heading for the door, allowing the duo a little space. This time he catches Kent’s sentence in full- “Y-you should come visit, next time you’re in town.”

Nick glances over his shoulder, just quick enough to watch the composure on Shep’s face break into something warm and welcoming. “I’d like that. I’ll stop by when I can.”

Kent’s own smile is blinding in return and Nick picks up his pace, quietly exiting the room. He’s surprised that Shep could be so open with anyone in Goodneighbor, after her experience with Finn at the gate. Not that Finn really represented the pinnacle of good society to begin with.

 

Nick keeps his wits about him and watches as whatever mood Kent inspired in the vault dweller stays with her up until the gates. They stopped by KLEO and Daisy’s respective shops to stock up on ammunition and a few stimpacks before they leave and Shep’s interactions with both show no sign of the cautious attitude she had shown towards him the night before.

_Maybe she just has a problem with synths? Seeing as she’s run into the brotherhood before that would explain a lot._

They finish up bartering with Daisy when the ghoul gives him an appraising look, “Hancock finally finish interrogating you?”

Shep freezes next to him, a few 10mm bullets dropping onto the counter where she’s filling up a spare clip before they head out. Nick’s eyes narrow and he gives her a sideways glance, not expecting a reaction since Daisy had been asking… him…

Hancock didn’t. Nick hadn’t implicitly asked that Hancock leave Shep alone but- Damn it. He did. _Goddammit, John._  

_Correction: She has a problem with synths. And Hancock. For good reason._

Nick kept his reply lighthearted, but his annoyance was plain to hear. “Does Hancock ever get tired of sticking his nose into other people’s business?”

Daisy tutted and leaned forward, her voice adopting a sympathetic tone, “You know you could probably avoid all that pomp and circumstance if you just went and talked to that boy every once in a while.”

Shep’s preparations slowed once again and though she was keeping her eyes focused on checking her 10mm, Nick could tell she was paying attention to the conversation. Nick scoffed and pushed the brim of his hat down a little, an old habit that he couldn’t quite kick. “I doubt that the mayor has time to talk, especially with an uptight Diamond City detective.”

Daisy’s expression made it clear that she knew he was evading the option completely. She regarded him impassively before speaking up again, “You know you’re not the only one around here with a good memory, Valentine.”

“And good day to you too, Daisy.” He retorted as he pushed away from the counter, with Shep finally giving him a curious glance as she holstered her 10mm. Daisy merely rolled her eyes and offered a small wave as they headed for the gates.

Shep doesn’t say anything, but Nick can feel the weight of her gaze all the way back to Diamond City.

Wonderful.

—

He might disagree with the bureaucracy in charge, but at the end of the day, Diamond City was home and Nick was glad to be back.

He suppressed a smile when Nat pauses her soap box calls to wave at him and Shep as they walk past, her attention zooming in on Shep, “My sister still wants that interview.”

Shep gives the girl a tired smile but her voice takes on an playful tone, “Don’t worry, I’ll drop by when I have a moment.”

Other than their quick stop to get Shep checked out by the doctor, their walk back to the agency is quiet and Nick is surprised to find the front desk empty when he finally pushes the door open.

_Home sweet home._

“Ellie, I’m back.” He calls out, stepping farther into the room and giving Shep some space to follow him inside, “You around?”

“Nick?!” Ellie’s voice calls back and Nick can practically hear her bounding down the steps three at a time from the upper level. “Is that really you?”

Nick smiles when her form appears from around the corner. It promptly disappears with an _umph_ as she crashes into him, full speed and wraps her arms around him. He laughs and returns the hug, his voice teasing as he speaks, “Well, it’s kinda hard to mistake this ugly mug for someone else.”

Ellie squeezes him one last time and pulls away, her expression schooled, “You keep laughing at death, Nick Valentine, and one of these days death is going to laugh right back.”

Shep is still standing in the doorway, watching the exchange with a hooded expression. Ellie catches sight of the vault dweller and beckons her inside as Ellie produces a small pouch from her desk drawer, “Thank you so much for finding him. I know an amount wasn’t on the table when you said you’d look for him but you deserve something.”

“No- I don’t need-” Shep’s protests are quiet and her usually chilly act is broken with a small flash of panic as Ellie practically forces the caps into her hands. Shep stands there frozen, awkwardly holding the caps and looking between the caps and Ellie, as if begging the other woman to take them back. Elie continues on without a pause, “If you’re ever looking to make some extra caps, Nick could always use a new partner. We have a few cases here that have been quite a handful.”

“One case at a time, El.” Nick cautions, taking a seat at the desk and motioning for Shep to sit down in the opposite chair. “She did just help me out of a tight spot just so we could return the favor, so let’s get that settled first.”

He can hear Ellie bustling around behind him, looking for a pad of paper. The momentary delay gives him a chance to really look at his client for the first time without being in a demanding situation or also being the focus of someone else’s gaze. She’s keeping her eyes downcast, though he can see them roaming across the room, slowly shifting over his office. She placed the pouch Ellie had handed her on the edge of the desk. Careless, even for a vault dweller. It didn’t matter what the setting, leaving caps in plain sight was like leaving your wallet on a park bench in the wrong side of town. That wasn’t the only strange thing about her. She sat slumped forward, her head bowed low and her shoulders slumped, but she kept her hands perfectly folded in her lap, her fingers laced together. People nowadays didn’t sit with their hands like that, not when it could mean the difference between having a weapon or having your throat slit while you were off-guard. Her entire posture was wrong, closed off and defensive. The people of the commonwealth could maintain a good poker face, but they kept their body language open. Only a few individuals worked with deception, the rest relied on quick hands and killer instincts. There’s something about her that Nick can’t quite place but he’s starting to notice just how out of place she really is from her surroundings.

Ellie takes up a place standing behind him and Nick let that train of thought end, focusing back in the current moment. “Now- what can you tell me about your case?”

Shep’s eyes dart up to his and fall back to her hands. She stays silent for a several minutes before her voice cracks to life, wobbling over the first few words.

“My family and I were having breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for your patience and your comments during these last few months. I might not have been around but I have read all of these comments and kept them close to my heart while going through some difficult stuff. So thank you guys, I wouldn't have found the motivation to get this chapter out for my birthday if I didn't know there were people who would be excited to read it.
> 
> So yeah. Happy birthday to me, and I hope all of y'all are having a wonderful Wednesday.


	11. Ghostlights (p. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shep tells her story, Nick listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone,
> 
> First of all you should all thank AnUnusualVisitor for their comment they left on this because I read it and went: I can finish that fucking chapter, so help me. GIS work can wait.
> 
> A lot has been going on this last year. I'm one week away from being given an overly expensive piece of paper that is proof of my "education." I've gotten far too stressed out and invested in national politics because my country is run by a white supremacist and I'm not down for this shit. I'm starting a job full time starting next week that I'm super excited about because it means doing graphics work for money. And I had a friend pass away very unexpectedly and I've been on my own journey of dealing with that. Its been rough at times.
> 
> I'm not going to apologize for the long (a year. I know.) delay and I'm not going to promise to start updating regularly, but I just want to thank the people who have stuck with this, or let me know that they're reading my stuff despite my inconsistent updates. Your support means the world to me and all I ask is that you guys are patient with me, delays and all.
> 
> This is a story I am very invested in telling, even if it takes an ungodly amount of time, believe me i wish it would go faster too.

Every case telling was different. Each client had their own tells, their own motivations. Some punctured their stories with sobs, others held themselves together through cold fury, some try and hide their worry with laughter, making small jokes to hide behind while they recount their tale as Nick sits on the opposite side of the table, drinking in all the details.

Every case telling was different, but he’d been in the business long enough to see patterns in how people told their stories.

Shep was no different.

 

_“They froze us. They told us they were decontamination pods and the next thing I remember was breathing in and suddenly not being able to breathe, like my lungs were full of ice, the next time I woke up I couldn’t move and all I could see where these people…”_

 

She was somewhere between breaking down completely or reigning in her slight shaking to be a cool operator. Her voice wavered but never raised above her level speaking volume. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks but she never broke off her narratives to wipe them away.

Nick had seen clients like her in the dozens, all stuck in some sort of limbo between being too resilient to let the situation crush them completely, but damaged enough to see that they wouldn’t leave the particular trauma behind anytime soon.

It wasn’t how she was reacting that made her unique or unexpected, it was the context and implication of what she was saying that had caught Nick off guard at the beginning.

 

_“…Nate wouldn’t give them Shaun, he tried to stop them and-”_

 

Shep’s narrative cuts off for the first time since she started talking, her eyes snapping shut and her lips trembling as she inhaled slowly. Ellie is a ball of nerves standing beside him, the sound of her scratching notes coming to a halt as Shep fell silent. Ellie’s voice is soothing, low and quiet, “You can stop whenever you want-”

Shep’s hand jerks in a choppy motion, cutting off his secretary’s cursory suggestion. Nick’s eyes glance to the hand raised half way in the air, fingers pressed tightly together and the slight tremor in her features, his eyes glance back to Shep’s face and her eyes are downcast, staring at a point somewhere on his desk, maybe the corner of the papers splayed across the desk.

She takes another breathe in, another breathe out.

They sit and wait.

Shep breathes in again and she raises her head while lower her hand back to her lap. The tear trails along her cheeks are still present but her eyes have dried up, though they were now ringed in red and puffier than when she first entered the agency. Her stare is sharp and pointed, and Nick can feel the fury rolling off her shoulders and into her once again clasped hands.

“When my husband wouldn’t give them our baby, they shot him at point blank range and one of the people in the hazmat suits took Shaun. The man who shot Nate then ordered them to restart the cryochamber and walked up to my chamber.”

_And there’s the shift into anger._

“That bastard grinned at me and said ‘well we’ve got a backup at least.’”

The most important part about a case telling was making sure the person knew you were listening, because if they begin to think you didn’t believe them, they kept things to themselves or left out “bothersome” information that could make or break a case. There was always one moment in every case telling where the speaker looks to the detective and the detective’s next actions either dismiss the severity of the person’s situation or reassure them to continue.

Shep’s moment is seeing how he’ll react after telling him the worst moment of her life.

Valentine closes his eyes for a moment and a sub-process he never seems to have control over lets out an audible exhale as he leans back in his chair. A cigarette would do wonders right now, even if just to help easy the mental dissonance between his actions and the reality of his existence- a machine who neither needs to breathe nor take a moment to contemplate.

He knows what it’s like to go through an unspeakable situation, to wake up and find your world turned upside down with no warning and no explanation. He woke up to this world under similar conditions, all things considered.

And he knows what it feels like to consciously know that things have gone wrong past the point of repair.

 

_“Come on, Sparks, don’t recognize an old friend?”_

 

Nick opens his eyes and meets Shepard’s gaze, still trained on him.

“Describe the man who killed your husband.”

—

Ellie catches him at the door as he’s putting his trench coat back on, Shep has already disappeared outside and Nick give Ellie a look so she knows he shouldn’t dawdle. Ellie gives him a half-hearted smile in response. “You two should be careful.”

She starts and Nick gives her a grin, “When am I not, Doll?”

Ellie’s responding glare is answer enough. Right. He probably should have taken the hostage situation into account more, even if everything had turned out alright.

“I mean it, Valentine. Don’t get into trouble.” Ellie is unmoving and Nick gives her an acquiescent nod. Ellie bites at the corner of her mouth and nods as nick grasps for the door handle. “Be gentle on her, Nick.”

“That’s the plan,” he replies nonchalant but doesn’t move to open the door just yet.

“I was planning on visiting some friends all of tonight anyway, and there’s that extra bed in the loft since you’re not much of a sleeper. Make sure to mention it.”

Nick nods and pulls the door open, sending Ellie a warm smile as he leaves. “How’d a washed up detective like me end up with such a good secretary like you?” He teased as Ellie rolled her eyes.

Outside, Shep is waiting and Nick’s mood settles back into something serious. He’s got a lot to talk about with the woman, and she deserves to know what she’s jumping into before she cases after a lead. Especially if Kellog is who Nick thinks he is.

—

In the end, they walk back to the detective agency in silence. One hidden room, a box of cigars and one thrown together plan later the two are back to the Agency office after Nick convinced Shep to at least spend the night in Diamond City before heading out again.

Once he can see the neon in the lights though, he knows he either says something now or never.

“So. From here on out, this case is your show doll.”

Shep’s neck whips around so fast as she turns to look at him Nick almost grimaces from the phantom pain. He hadn’t intended it to come out as a something sounding like a send-off.

“What I mean is you’re the one calling the shots from here on out.” He continues, slowing just a touch before they reached the door to the agency. “This case is obviously far from over, and I’m willing to see it through till the end, but only if you want me to. This is your gig, so if you want me hanging around I’ll follow your lead. If you want to go it alone, I completely understand.”

Shep scrunched up her eyebrows and the corner of her mouth twisted into a frown momentarily, as if she was once again standing in the vault sizing him up. She nodded and turned her attention back towards the wall, keeping her gaze averted.

“Thank you, Detective.”

It looks like they were making progress. But Nick had to correct one thing before it became a habit.

“On one condition: Don’t call me ‘Detective.’ Use my name, first or last, doesn’t matter. I’ll respond to either.”

Shep raised an eyebrow and Nick continued, “I’m not a big fan of being referred to by my professional moniker.”

Shep nodded and Nick let them back into the agency, motioning to the hallway away from the main room. “Around the corner and up the stairs is a loft with an extra bed, some space for your stuff, etc. It’s all yours. If your hungry, I can go out and grab something for you or give you recommendations if you’d rather go out yourself.”

Shep waves off the suggestion and begins to tun towards the back hallway, “Thank you, I think I’d rather just get some rest.”

Nick nods in affirmation and settles himself back at his desk, unearthing a pen from one of the drawers to write up the day’s developments in Shep’s physical case file that Ellie had started earlier that morning. After a while a choked sob filters into his hearing from the other side of the office and he makes sure to keep his writing consistent and not break the sound of his pen scratching against the paper. His hearing is better than most and his house guest is probably already trying to muffle herself as much as possible.

He keeps writing and allows himself to listen as the sounds oscillate, choppy at times and continuous in others. It’d been a long day, and all things considered, he had nothing but respect for the fact that Shep had managed to keep her composure together since the beginning.

He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cigarette from the pocket of the coat hanging off the back of his chair, letting his mind finally wander back to the one piece of information he had restricted from himself since her story this morning.

2077.

Taking a drag of the cigarette was calming, a slight distraction from the shallow ache in his chest that meant his emotional processor was trying to execute a command his hardware didn’t have the abilities to follow out, some sort of nuance of the disconnect between the body of a synth and the supposed mind of a man. Nick closed his eyes as he listened to Shep’s sobs level out and become almost inaudible, finally at the point where swept in to claim her exhausted mind.

Nick exhaled and got back to work writing down the day’s events, tapping the pen against the desk.

He hoped the crying helped. Maybe made the pain a little less sharp, or helped make the world feel a little less daunting. Maybe all it did was tire her out enough so that for the next few hours she wouldn’t be conscious of the weight she’s been carrying on her shoulders, good enough.

He wouldn’t wish Shep’s current situation on anyone. Not when he knew far too well what circle of hell the woman was going through.

He had felt the exact same way we he had woken up too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Alright, now I'm off to do mind numbing GIS maps and grade posters. Pray for me and the possibility that I don't fail and get this stupid degree and am finally free of the higher education system. Seriously, I need all the good will I can get, I suck at school.


End file.
